Prison Stories

Louisiana taking steps to keep families connected

December 12, 2019 by Harry C. Goodall Jr.

A new program is helping Louisiana girls keep in touch with their incarcerated fathers.

“Not being able to see my father has been traumatizing,” said Dominque Jones, whose father has been in prison since before she was born. She organized a program that helps girls cope with the strain of life without their incarcerated dads.

“When I was 16, my paternal grandfather passed away, and that was the first time I saw my biological father outside of prison bars — shackled and chained and escorted by two correctional officers at his dad’s funeral,” Jones, 36, said in an interview with TheAdvocate.com.

The program is called Daughters Beyond Incarceration (DBI). One of its events was a Father’s Day gathering June 15 in New Orleans called a “crawfish boil” for young girls of incarcerated dads. The program relies strictly on fundraising. It currently has 30 members.

DBI was created to advocate for policy changes and removal of the barriers that make it difficult for daughters to communicate with their fathers, according to the June 16 article.

“I get frustrated and angry,” said Sun’Shyne Mathieu, 16. Father’s Day is “going to be a real tough day for me. Everybody’s going to be posting pictures with their father’s gifts and everything, and I have to send my graduation pictures and diploma in an envelope, and that’s not right,” Mathieu added.

DBI has also teamed up with Navigate Nola, which is a New Orleans based activist group, which made this occasion and photo shot possible. They displayed a photo exhibit of portraits of the members, soon to be displayed at all New Orleans Recreation Development Commission’s (NORD) programs and all NORD sites.

Jones pointed out it costs around $100 to visit her father at the Angola prison. That includes gas, money on the phone for their conversations, and feeding her two children. When you are a single mother this can be particularly stressful, according to the article.

“Could you imagine your father being transported to University Hospital or Tulane Hospital and you not know?” asked Jones on the fact that the prison has no notification responsibilities on her father’s medical treatment.

DBI is currently working with Southern Poverty Law Center advocating for prison policy changes to create a free phone call system and even become involved with schools’ PTAs, according to the article.

Another organization working to highlight some of the stresses girls with incarcerated fathers may face is Navigate Nola, founded by Danielle Wright. Wright said these daughters face anxiety, sadness and fear. These factors can contribute to the girl having problems in school. Wright said she is working to highlight these issues instead of letting the girls be subjected to school discipline.

Jones said she hopes to purchase a home for her organization where girls could have recreational activities like art, yoga and dance. This would help the girls gain a sense of normalcy, she said.

The visionary who resurrected San Quentin News

December 11, 2019 by Kevin Sawyer

Eleven years ago, former San Quentin warden Robert Ayers Jr. pulled the San Quentin News from the dust heap and revitalized the inmate-run publication more than 20 years after it had been officially suspended.

Ayers’ decision was a gamble. But it paid off to the benefit of thousands of prisoners and other readers around the world who learn about criminal justice, incarceration, rehabilitation and reentry from stories advancing social justice, written by incarcerated journalists.

“At that time, I wanted to get some quality journalism out and hopefully have other institutions do the same,” said Ayers during a recent visit to SQ News. He said as warden, he was used to doing things without a lot of oversight. So in 2008, when the News was restarted, the California Department of Corrections allowed it, as long as it stayed at San Quentin.

“I believed at the time good things were going to come of this,” said Ayers. “I saw this as a vehicle for people to know who inmates are.” He said he wanted to take the mystique out of who inmates are because “inmates are not a subset of humanity.”

In October, Ayers and his wife Peggy accepted an invitation to visit SQ News and attend one of its weekly staff meetings with some of the newspaper’s volunteer advisers. It was the first time he’d seen the newsroom since it relocated to the prison’s media center.

Ayers greets SQN Advisers Linda Xiques and Joan Lisetor

The celebrated podcast Ear Hustle was far in the future when Ayers brought SQ News back to life. Ayers said, “I didn’t have any notion of a podcast or anything else.” (The newspaper and Ear Hustle share space in the media center, but have separate staffs.) Ayers said when he revived the newspaper, he did not envision a journalism guild to teach new writers or that the SQ News would become so big.

Ayers became a correctional officer at San Quentin in 1968. Then, he said the SQ News was a four-page paper. “There was very little news.” It was a publication about news on the prison yard.

According to Ayers, rumor had it that outside influences tried to guide the content of SQ News in the turbulent 1980s. The paper was shut down in the mid-1980s, along with every other prison newspaper in the state. “The reason it was stopped is because it couldn’t be censored anymore,” he said. “That’s the truth.” California courts had sided with inmate journalists in a number of cases in which prison administrators attempted to censor content.

Ayers left San Quentin in 1986 as a lieutenant. Over the years, he’s worked at Pelican Bay State Prison, California State Prison Sacramento, and filled in as warden at California State Prison Los Angeles. When he was offered the job as warden at San Quentin, he said it took him about 30 seconds to make his decision.

Ayers returned to San Quentin in the spring of 2006. He said it was a place that he had “kinship with.” But it was known for doing things its own way. “I wanted to change that, but I also wanted to do something about the inmate population.”

Ayers: “if it can be broadcast and printed out there, why can’t it be printed in San Quentin News?”

When SQ News was publishing in the 1980s, it didn’t do much for the prison population, according to Ayers. Upon returning to the prison, he wanted to “get the staff respect back” and do something that would benefit the entire inmate population. He said he wanted to provide a means for people to build other useful skills in another venue.

Ayers said he believed the newspaper needed to be under the education department. “It was a hard sell to the principal at the time,” he said, so he went to the vocational printing instructor, John Wilkerson. “He was on it.”

One of Ayers’ key objectives was to provide good guidance. He said he wanted to build ethics. “Once you build that, a warden is not needed.” He said the advisors to the newspaper are providing role model status to the men who associate with and learn from people who are productive. He said when the men can look to people like that and form their own mind, that goes a long way because “the media is still a pillar of our society.”

Warden Ayers invited retired journalist John C. Eagan to spearhead the rebirth of the newspaper. Later, Ayer’s assistant, Lt. Rudy Luna, brought on retired journalists Steve McNamara and Joan Lisetor on board. McNamara was former owner and publisher of the Pacific Sun. Lisetor was an adviser to the newspaper in the 1980s. They all answered the call and are still volunteers with the SQ News along with dozens of others.

“This was not a small thing to take on,” said Ayers. “I’m not saying all of the resistance (to starting a newspaper in prison) was unfounded.”

When the News was being revised, Ayers said there was early dialog with the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) about what it was going to allow to be printed.

Ayers argued that the men watch television, listen to radio, subscribe to newspapers and magazines so they already had access to information. “What are they going to print that’s going to set the world on fire?” he said.

When the newspaper was revived, “We were basically ignored because they (CDCR) didn’t know we existed,” said McNamara. “Since we’ve become much more visible, we’ve reached a good accommodation.”

Ex Warden Ayers, Steve McNamara and San Quentin News staff outside the SQ media center

The role CDCR represen- tatives have with SQ News:

• Check the factual content of material sourced directly or indirectly from CDCR or relating to the California criminal justice system.
• Check for content that actually or potentially endangers the safety of prisoners, CDCR personnel, the prison system or the public.

• Content deemed questionable is flagged with observations or suggested changes. Warranted revisions are made by the newspaper staff with the guidance of its professional advisers.

The SQ News requested that review of the paper by the CDCR, before publication, to not include re-writes or calls for changes in the newspaper’s content selection, writing style, balance, identified opinions or other aspects of journalistic choice. These are the purview of the newspaper staff with the guidance of its professional advisers.

“People all fear what they don’t know,” said Ayers. “One of the fears of starting a paper is there are those who think it will be an inmate rant rag. But when it’s the truth you can’t swat that away.”

There was never a story he worried about. “As far as I’m concerned, if it can be broad- cast and printed out there, why can’t it be printed in SQ News ?” said Ayers. There was, however, a story about administrative segregation that raised concern. Some people didn’t want it called “the hole,” but he asked what sense does that make because everyone out on the yard calls it “the hole.”

Regarding humanizing the men, Ayers said he wanted the men to humanize each other. “Everybody in prison, whether it’s staff or prisoners, tend to buy into the notion that men are inmates.”

When Ayers restarted the paper, he wanted people to be proud of it and to “remain open.”

“You’re doing your job,” he said to the News staff. “I think you’re part of that” (prison reform). “My only recommendation is to be open to growth.

“I still look at it online,” said Ayers. “This is certainly not something we were doing 11 years ago, and it won’t be the same two years from today.”

The staff and advisers all thanked Ayers and applauded his “courageous decision” to restart the newspaper.

“I think a lot of running a prison can be, and usually is, a mine field,” said Ayers. “You don’t always know where those mines are hidden. You don’t want to be the one to step on one and have it blow up.” He warned that once you take that big step into the unknown, “Have clarity in your own mind.”

Former SQ Warden Robert Ayers, Peggy Ayers, and SQN Adviser Steve McNamara

Ayers stepped off, and left a legacy that he now shares with his predecessor, Clinton T. Duffy (SQ warden 1940-1952), who established SQ News in 1940. If not for Ayers, though, the News may have remained dormant for decades longer.

Editor’s Note: Today, SQ News prints 30,000 newspapers each month and distributes them to all 35 CDCR prisons, four juvenile facilities, university and public libraries, to hundreds of donors that include individuals outside of California. It publishes the quarterly magazine Wall City, the newsletter Inside SQ News and the website sanquentinnews.com. The state of California does not fund the paper. It is funded by grants from foundations and generous private donations. You can follow us on Twitter: @SanQuentinNews.

Imago Dei routs the Warriors … but our very own G. Derrick is the star

September 16, 2019 by Rahsaan Thomas

From a wheelchair on the sidelines, Leonard King got to watch veteran San Quentin Warrior Allan McIntosh put up 32 points but still fall short to Imago Dei, 119-102. King got to attend the game because Inmate Disability Assistance Program worker George Derrick, who also plays for the Warriors, used part of his day off to stop by the fourth floor of the infirmary and picked him up.

“George is a good per- son; he’s made getting out here really easy,” King said. “It’s a mental struggle losing something you had for 62 years to a fungal infection (which was compounded by having diabetes) but I get encouragement from the people around me and that has made the transition easier.” King lost his leg in April. It would be another month before he could get fitted with a prosthetic. In the meantime, with the help of Derrick, he comes to yard at 8 am on Saturdays to watch the Warriors play.

“It’s good entertainment,” King said. “There’s a lot of talent out there. Makes you think what could have been.”

Imago Dei came down the hill with six players, including sixty something year old Don Smith. On the surface, it may have looked like the Warriors had the advantage, but the least athletic player in the starting five for Imago was a legend at Grinnell College for his three point shooting ability. Steve “Raise a J” Diekmann dropped 21 points, including nailing five baskets from behind the arc. But it was former St. Mary and ABA player Teohn Conners and former New Mexico State player Jon Williams who lead Imago with 38 and 30 points respectively. Conners added a whopping 25 rebounds, 5 steals, 4 assists, and 2 blocks.

“They put up a fight,” Williams said. “We were limited but we made shots when it counted.”

In the first quarter, the teams traded baskets with Warrior Rick ‘Rick Rebound’ Joseph, a six-foot center, snatching rebounds and adding a couple of scores.

“I worked hard and it feels good,” Joseph said. “I just want to play and do my part.”

Imago broke away with the hot shooting of Williams and finished the quarter up 31-24.

After two quarters, Imago led 65-51.

Williams had 24 points in the first half.

“I’m going for 50,” Williams, who just came back from vacationing in Cabo, Mexico, said.

At half-time, both teams circled around center-court to share.

Derrick, a 6-foot-4, 38 year old from San Francisco, said, “It’s an honor to play with great players. It brings out the best in me and teaches me to deal with not getting what I want, like not getting to play today.”

Imago Center Ervin An- derson, a former ABA player, gave a short sermon about how “God is love.”

Warriors Coach Tony “Barefoot Tone” Evans added, “IDAP workers don’t have to bring people to the yard. George is expanding the program and that touched my heart.”

In the third quarter, Donte ‘Twin’ Harris came off the bench to run the point and hustled hard, attempting a Warriors comeback. Every time the Warriors got within four points, Imago pulled away again.

In the fourth quarter, up 104-91 with 3:55 points Imago sat power forward Brett “BC” Collins, who also played for St. Mary’s, and put the 5-6 Don “Donnie Fabulous” Smith in the game.

“Lay off him on offense and go at him on defense,” yelled SQ Warriors fan Ceasar ‘C-Money’ McDowell.

That plan didn’t work. Smith found himself open and nailed two short-range set shots.

Three Warriors, beside McIntosh, scored in double digits including Anthony Ammons with 23 and 10 boards, Walter Cook with 10 points, 5 assists and 2 steals and Harris with 10 points, 5 assists and 4 steals. Joseph had 9 points, 11 rebounds and 4 assists.

For Imago, all five starters scored in the double digits. Collins added 17 points, 8 re- bounds, 4 assists and a steal. Anderson added 12 points, 13 rebounds, 4 assists and 5 blocks.

The tequila and tacos Williams enjoyed in Cabo kicked in during the second half –after starting with 24 points first-half points, he added only 6 points in the second period.

“Jon ran out of gas so I had to take a couple of shots,” Diekmann said after the win with a big smile on his face.

In Remembrance

September 11, 2019 by San Quentin News Staff

Brothers George Grifall and Chris Koppe

More than 60 men of all nationalities, races and origins gathered in San Quentin’s Catholic Chapel to celebrate the lives of George Grifall and Chris Koppe. The two well-known incarcerated men passed away in San Quentin in the month of June.

“I love you, brother,” was the catchphrase for Grifall. Koppe was lovingly known as Colonel Sanders or Colonel Crispy.

After the evening meal on July 18, prisoners mingled and listened to the blues, led by the smooth drumming of Darryl Moody Schilling. As the chapel began filling up, Schilling picked up the pace with a livelier beat.

“He told me he loved me, and then I climbed in my rack,” recalled Michael “Doc” Dickman, his cellie, about the night Grifall passed away. “George told me not to wake him for the Saturday breakfast — he hates CDCR pancakes, plus we had plenty of food.”

Grifall had a “bad habit” of hanging his hand over the ledge of the bed, Dickman explained. He said that the following morning he kept bump- ing into Grifall’s hand and after a couple times, Dickman yelled for Grifall to move his hand, but he didn’t respond. Dickman became concerned.

“When I felt his hand, it was ice cold,” Dickman said. “He died in his sleep. Don’t believe the rumors out there.”

Walter Sprakea talked about meeting Grifall while incarcerated at Corcoran in 1999.

“I thought then, he was too friendly,” Walter said. “Back then, prison was harder to do time in, and you’d see him and say, ‘what’s wrong with that guy?’ He was always respectful and of course, would say, ‘I love you, brother.’”

Larry Ryzak added, “George was my friend. He was one the most loyal people I ever knew. I could still hear him, ‘I love you, brother.’ He never changed. He had good morals. He wasn’t perfect, but nobody is or we wouldn’t be standing here.”

Anthony Thomas read a poem that he wrote in honor of Grifall.

Richie Morris said that he didn’t know George well, but “his absence leaves a hole in my life. I always saw him be- ing kind.

“Now, Colonel Crispy looked like Colonel Sanders,” Morris continued. “We spend our time with people passing by us and never notice who they are. We got an opportunity here to record we stand among giants. I want you to recognize that.”

SQNews Staffer, Aaron Taylor talked about guitar lessons he got from Koppe.

“One day I see this dude in the rotunda playing the blues, who looked like Colonel Sanders bending the strings,” Taylor said. “Chris told me that he’d teach me how to play rhythm guitar,” However, Taylor said that he was slow picking up the lessons. “Chris told me he wouldn’t play with me because he said he never met a Black man who didn’t have rhythm.”

The incident, Taylor said, invigorated his willingness to learn guitar, and he practiced until Koppe later agreed to play lead guitar with him at an open mic.

In between men taking the stage to talk about their friends, Quentin Blues entertained the audience: (Dwight Krizman (Bass), Richie Morris (Guitar and Vocals), Chris Thomas (Mandolin & Vo- cals), Mark Kinney (Piano), Joe Thurson Percussion); An- drew “Boots” Hardy (Guitar and Vocal).

A recording of “Now I Can Rise”, with Koppe on lead guitar was also played.

Brian Holliday talked about his relationship with Grifall.

“Every time he saw me, he’d stop and say, ‘What’s up?’ You don’t see that in people too much,” Holliday said. “I really miss him.”

Quentin Blues closed the memorial with two songs for Koppe: “Full Tilt Boogie” and “Upward as I Fall”.

For Grifall, Quentin Blues played “Feet Don’t Fail Me Now”. Then “Boots” per- formed a song he had writ- ten the previous morning and dedicated to George.

“I dropped my pick inside my guitar and this song fell out,” Boots said. “This song is about the stories I heard about the man after he passed, the love and the handshakes.

By Juan Haines Senior Editor

Correctional Officer L. Griffin

San Quentin State Prison lost a great treasure on Aug. 23. After a lengthy battle with cancer, Correctional Officer L. Griffin passed away.

Griffin’s passing hit the men-in-blue like a boulder. Griffin had worked at San Quentin since Feb. 14, 1998.

“Once I heard about C/O Griffin’s passing, I was instantly saddened, being that we worked together for four years,” said Anthony Ammons. “One of the most important things that Griffin taught me was to always say ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome.’”

Harold Meeks added, “The wisdom and words of encouragement Griffin gave to me empowered me to keep mentoring the youth inside these prison walls. Griffin always reminded us that we can change, and it is possible.”

Griffin was well-known to younger inmates, who wore their pants too low—they’d catch hell for it. “Stop sagging your pants,” Griffin would tell the youngsters, and rightfully so. Griffin never missed an opportunity to speak candidly and directly and never worried about who listened or their opinions.

The prison staff, as well as the men-in-blue, knew Griffin for being cheerful in nature. Many say that laughter would fill the room whenever Griffin appeared— filling every corner in every inch of San Quentin.

Here are just a few of the things said about Griffin: “Griffin wasn’t just a correctional officer; Griffin was a mentor, a teacher and a pure hearted genuine soul, who always offered you the truth.”

“If you never knew what a real angel looked like then you never saw Griffin.”

“Griffin told stories filled with a wealth of knowledge but also with an abundance of joy, laughter and smiles.”

“It didn’t rain on Aug. 23, 2019; the sun shined, just like Griffin’s smile.”

Without a doubt, the atmosphere here at San Quentin will never be the same.

By Richard Richardson Executive Editor

Chicago group engages storytelling to understand violence

September 11, 2019 by San Quentin News Contributer

All those in attendance assemble for a group photo after the talk

When Sam Castro was three years old, he was shot in the arm outside his home on Chicago’s Northwest side. He remembers the chaos in the aftermath, how his mother and grandmother screamed when he walked over and told them what had happened. He also remembers that after the initial shock of the whole thing, nobody ever spoke to him about it again.

Castro, 45, said that the incident loomed large in his childhood. Seeing violence so early in his life led him on the path to crime and eventually to prison.

He shared the story as part of a facilitated conversation in April called “From Incarceration to Peacemaking,” which aimed to describe the root causes of violence. The event was hosted by Envisioning Justice, an organization devoted to encouraging Chicagoans to think about the impacts of the criminal justice system on communities around the city and imagine what reforms to the system might look like.

“The whole point of Envisioning Justice is to try and see what the arts and humanities can do to make criminal justice reform a city-wide issue, but also to really involve people who aren’t usually involved and get them to envision what a different system would look like,” said Elliot Heilman, an organizer of the event.

Castro and two other men spoke to an audience of about 15 teen- agers who were members of The Peace Exchange, a Chicago organization that educates teenagers about topics ranging from restorative justice to teen dating violence with the hope that they be- come peace lead- ers in their own communities.

Sam Castro, Frederick Seaton and Orlando Mayorga, the three formerly incarcerated panelists during the conversation. Castro and Seaton sport the neon yellow jackets that they wear when they work as violence interrupters.

Henry Cervantes, a pro- gram manager for Peace Exchange, who facilitated the talk, said that these conversations were important because they “can transform our own perceptions of the world and can change our views on reality.”

Cervantes grew up in spaces greatly impacted by violence and incarceration. “My earliest childhood memories were that of my mother and sisters and I being beaten on a daily basis, and hearing, seeing and avoiding gunshots in this community,” he said. At age 12, his younger sister took her own life as a response to the domestic violence. Cervantes was only 17 years old. “The work I’m doing now has everything to do with how I was raised,” he said.

Cervantes said conversations like this one are important because they help heal formerly incarcerated people’s wounds while also allowing others to learn from their mistakes. “You gotta share that knowledge with the people,” he said.

The feeling that the criminal justice system traps Black and Latino communities in an endless cycle of incarceration loomed large throughout the conversation. Micah Baker, 16, a student from The Peace Exchange, reflected on this after the discussion.

“The Black community and the Latino community, they end up in these correctional facilities because they don’t have the resources that White people have,” Baker remarked after the event. “They don’t have these equal opportunities, and that’s what lands them in these jails.”

During the conversation, Baker and the other teenagers also grappled with the question of prison reform versus prison abolition. Orlando Mayorga, one of the formerly incarcerated panelists, came down on the abolitionist side. “It does not take prison for a person to learn from the mistakes that they make,” he said. “I am who I am in spite of prison, not because of it.”

Mayorga, who recently graduated from college and works with people re-entering the community after incarceration, noted how difficult it is to transform neighborhoods when so much of the community is locked up.

“[Prisons] rob our neighborhood of valuable resources,” he said, adding that people who could improve neighborhoods “don’t have that opportunity because they’re spending so much time in prisons.”

Castro agreed. Once he got out of prison he said he remembered thinking, “I destroyed my community. Now, I need to rebuild it. I need to help my people because if we don’t do it, nobody will.”

Cultural differences affect the way peoples’ sexual orientations are treated

June 25, 2019 by Juan Haines

Acting with Compassion and Truth (ACT) is a first of its kind of prison program that explores how cultural differences affect the way people with diverse sexual orientations are treated. The group consists of LGBTQ people as well as heterosexual/cisgender people.

California prison officials and a journalist came to San Quentin, on April 10, to see how ACT functions.

A Hmong inmate, Lee Xiong, told a compelling story about how his culture treats gay people.

He said that if a father, traditional Hmong values, learned that his child was gay, “that child would be taken out fishing or hunting and he’d never come back.”

Xiong then revealed that his youngest brother had recently come out as gay. To gain insight to his conflict, he sought out and had a conversation with people in the San Quentin LGBTQ community. He said coming to ACT opened his awareness about his brother.

“This class literally saved my brother’s life,” Xiong said.

ACT’s outside sponsor, Billie Mizell said, Xiong’s response to his younger brother serves as an inspiration, “for all those brave enough to join [ACT]. Mizell added, “Hopefully we can soon replicate ACT in other prisons. Lee revealed a deep love of family and community by showing up for this group and he has worked as hard as anyone I’ve ever seen to acquire the tools needed to be a good brother and good ally. I have seen the ripple effect go far beyond the walls to bring healing an relationship to family and friends on the outside.”

Holly Stuckey, a transgender inmate, quietly sat across from Mizell, She listened to inmates talk about sexual identity issues.

She said she stayed away from ACT for several months, because of shyness.

“I want to start coming back regularly,” Stuckey said. “I’m a meek person. Billie does a good job and that keeps me motivated to come back.”

ACT first began four years ago as an idea presented by Mike Nelson. Before the class started, Mizell said, “I remember asking LGBTQ community what they wanted ACT to be about. I kept hearing that they want to educate the larger community about what it means to be a LGBTQ member in order to reduce the violence, build empathy and to bring both LGBTQ and women’s issues into a man’s prison.”

After some preliminary introductions, Mizell asked the group to use a couple words to describe their feelings about inviting guests that day: excited/nervous; anxious/confused; curious/ awkward; and older/wiser were just a few.

After the check in, Juan Meza and Michael Adams stood in front of a white board.

Meza referred to a ginger bread sketch with brains drawn inside the head, a heart inside the chest area, and symbols for male, female and male/female in the genital area.

Meza pointed to the heart and asked what it represents. “Romantic attraction,” said one participant. “Sexual orientation,” said another. “Right,” said Meza.

“What about this?” he asked pointing at the brain. “Gender identity,” shouted several participants.

Also on the board, LGBTQIA was written. Meza asked what the “T” referred to. “Gender,” the class responded.

“What about the ‘G?’” Meza asked. “Sexual Orientation,” several participants said.

Meza asked where to place “girl” on the ginger bread sketch. A participant called out,“That’s biology.” Another said, “That’s in your head.”

He went through all the words to show how gender is constructed by various terms.

“Terminology is important in the way we communicate,” Meza said as he drew four long lines on the board and labeled the columns, 1-Racial Slurs, 2-Derogatory Terms for Women, 3- Derogatory Terms for LGBTQ and 4-Terms to disparage the Prisoner Masculinity.

The room sat in momentary silence after the participants filled in the columns with slurs and terms. (The majority of the terms are not appropriate for publication.)

Meza then drew a line across the column to demonstrate the intersectionality of the LGBTQ community with ethnic groups as well as incarcerated people.

“When we see the intersectionality of these words, we can see how we ourselves give these words power,” Meza said. “If we didn’t use these words against women, other races and the LGBTQ community, then they’d have no power to be used against us as incarcerated people.” He added, “Sticks and stones will break your bones, but words will break your spirits.”

Eddie DeWeaver chimed in to say, “These words are precursors to violence. They demean people and are used to justify violence.”

Mizell added, “When many people hear these words, knowing that they are precursors to violence, fear comes into play. We all want to live in a place where we feel safe.”

R. “Nephew” Bankston raised his hand and told a story about getting a rules violation about 10 years ago, because he refused to let a LGBTQ inmate become his cellie.

“I’m not living with a homosexual,” Bankston said about how he felt. “We don’t do that,” he added, referring to peer pressure.

ACT participant (front middle) Nate Collins, (left) Jerry Seanphensiki, Brian Alejandro, Lee Xiong, Lam Le and Jerome Watts

Bankston said he came to prison as a teenager in 2001. He then lowered his head and said, “I know what hate looks like. It was a long struggle for me, but now I know that I have to treat people different from that. When I first came to this class, I came just to get a chrono (laudatory informational letter), but when my older brother told me to start calling him she, she taught me all those things in my past were wrong. Now, I’m not here for the chrono. I need to understand my sister.”

“It’s going to be a struggle to learn,” Bankston said. “The board didn’t tell me to come to this class. I’m doing it for me. I sent my sister a visiting form and I’m taking baby steps. It’s for me to figure out where we go from here.”

Mike Adams talked about a time while being housed in North Block that he was afraid of people like Bankston.

“Hearing that Nephew is striving to be a better person helps me heal,” Adams said.

Bankston responded, “When Mike told me that he feared me. That sat with me for a long time.” Bankston looked at Adams and said, “I’m going to do my best to treat you better.”

He added, “I didn’t know the power of words.”

The federal Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA) makes sexual harassment or assault in prison a serious crime. Amy Miller, an Associate Director for CDCR, asked the class, if anyone ever accepted a derogatory term directed at them, or used a slur against someone else just to be accepted. Nearly all the hands in the class went up.

Miller has more than 23 years of experience in working in California corrections. She oversees CDCR’s Female Offender Programs and Services/Special Housing. The office manages and provides oversight to the state’s three female correctional facilities, Folsom State Prison, California Medical Facility, California Health Care Facility, community correctional facilities, and three conservation camps that house women wild land firefighters. It also manages special programs including policies regarding transgender inmates and the implementation of PREA.

The PREA Statewide coordinator Captain Shannon Stark noted that everybody had a choice where they sat in the classroom. She noted that in other prisons that she’d visited blacks would have sat with blacks, whites with whites and Mexicans with Mexicans. Here, she said there’s diversity.

The class ended with inmate Zakir “Egypt” Jones performing an original rap/ hop-hop song, called I know. She was the inspiration for the song came to her in a dream and an epiphany to where her life was going.

The entire class, including CDCR officials, had their heads bobbing and fingers snapping.

In a later interview, Bankston said that what he learned from the ACT class, he could take to the rest of his community.

“This shows that it’s possible. It’s a good thing to see. People need to hear your struggles. Nephew shows that it’s real,” Stark said.

“It is important to honor the original pilot group who built ACT,” Mizell said. In addition to Meza and Adams, they are Michael “Yoshi” Nelson, Lady Jae Clark, Azrall “Big Az” Ford, Todd “Silk” Williams, C.J. Smith, Mark Hensley, John Windham, Philip Melendez, and Ray Aldridge.

Florida DAs charge fentanyl dealers with murder in cases of overdose

June 24, 2019 by San Quentin News Contributer

A woman overdosed and died in jail. As a result, another faces first-degree murder charges.

On Sept. 7, 2018, 24-year- old Jeniffer Patrick was riding in a car with her 49-year-old boyfriend when they were stopped by Marion County sheriff deputies, who found drugs and syringes in the car.

Patrick was arrested and booked into the Marion County Jail in Ocola, Fla., where she was then strip-searched and placed in a holding tank with other women.

This is where she came across 22-year-old Lorraine Gardner who had been in custody since July 2 on a probation violation stemming from three drug charges for MDMA, cocaine and methamphetamine, according to The Appeal, a non-profit criminal justice news outlet.

According to the Marion County sheriff’s department, video shows Patrick handing something to Gardner, who then put it to her face. Soon after, she began to show signs of physical distress.

Later footage shows something falling out of Patrick’s pants: a small baggie containing a tan mixture. The substance was tested and was revealed to be 2.5 grams containing fentanyl.

In November, Patrick was charged with first-degree murder. The murder charges against Patrick are a part of a push to treat fatal overdoses as homicides.

In June 2017, Florida passed a fentanyl trafficking law that increased penalties for dealers, including first-degree murder charges in cases where a homicide results from a drug overdose.

Amy Berndt, the prosecutor in the case, said, “Basically, as long as we can prove that the person delivered the drug that caused the death—fentanyl, it’s first-degree murder.” She remains committed to putting Patrick in prison for the rest of her life, adding that small-time dealers are the problem.

Drug policy experts caution that these new harsher penalties will not save lives—in fact, the threat of more time in prison might increase the likelihood of a fatal overdose if family members, friends or other users hesitate to call authorities, Linsay LaSalle of the Drug Policy Alliance told The Appeal.

Simply, this acts as a deterrent to calling 911. Lawmakers stand firm stating they want to send a clear message to drug dealers in Florida. Gov. Rick Scott signed the bill and promised it would save lives.

Attorney General Pam Bondi seconded the notion that the law would protect Floridians from dangerous drug traffickers.

An interview with former Death Row prisoner Alfred Sandoval, from Pelican Bay’s Newsletter “The Pelican”

May 15, 2019 by San Quentin News Contributer

K: Thank you for sitting down with me and for agreeing to do this interview. If I remember correctly, you said you’ve been in prison for about two-thirds of your life? That… is a long time.

S: Trust me, it’s been very long. From the boy’s home to death row – I came into the system in ’79.

K: Has it been hard?

S: No. It’s life. It’s survival. Out there, in the streets, you have to deal with everything – bills, jobs, boss, kids. In prison it’s the same. Life. It doesn’t mean it’s easy or hard. It’s just part of living.

K: So what have you learned from doing all of this time?

S: That there’s always a tomorrow. At the time, you don’t always realize how you get through things but there are moments when you wake up and it almost surprises you!

K: It sounds like you’ve come to accept your situation.

S: Well. Yeah. I knew what I was doing when I did what I did. So I can’t come in here and not accept it like I wasn’t supposed to be here. It’s, as I like to call it, an “occupational hazard”. Just like the risk that you will hurt yourself on the job, our life- style comes with the risk of going to prison.

K: That sounds like a wise perspective. Why do you think a lot of youngsters come in here and have such a hard time?

S: I think these kids can’t accept responsibility. it’s never their fault. I mean everyone I meet is innocent now-a-days. (We share a laugh at this)

S: They act like they’re the victims, always blaming everybody but themselves. You see, with me, I always make my own decisions. I’m in here and I’m living with my choices. Now I’m surviving. Living. To progress is a choice.

K:I see you going to a lot of programs – when did you make the decision to “calm down”? I’m assuming you haven’t always been like this.

S: What’s that supposed to mean?!

K: Uhh…

S: I’m just messing with you youngster. Somewhere along the way I got old. (He laughs) But it started in ’94. I was 5 days away from execution-

K: 5 days? How did you feel about that?

S: I was ready. Like I said, it’s an occupational hazard. I had this saying on my wall “Life is but the sleep from which death awakes the soul”. It’s a Native American saying. It’s always stuck with me. The first few days felt like Russian roulette. But after seeing something called the ‘many faces of death’, my only goal was to show my kids that the system didn’t break me – the ‘many faces of death’ was a collection of mug shots of all the people they had executed. Everyone in those pictures looked mad or sad or de- pressed. I wasn’t going to be that, so in every photo I had a big smile on my face.

K: What happened to the… execution?

S: My lawyer filed some paperwork and had it stopped. 5 years later, I got a reversal and they gave me life without. During those 5 years, a friend of mine taught me how to meditate. I had way too much energy. Iwasinmy40’sandhad to deal with my inner self. Things happen in life and you have to learn from them, move forward. There’s this saying, “A fool will lose tomorrow looking back on yesterday”. Once I calmed down, I started to want to be better for myself. That’s the key. It’s not about doing programs because they look good on paper, but because you want to be better for yourself.

K: With all of these pro- grams, have the people changed? Is it better? Worse?

S: No. It’s still the same type of people. The way I see it, it’s just evolution. Things change. Not everything has to be good or bad. It’s just life. Survival.

K: You use that word a lot. Survival. Why?

S: Well, back when we didn’t have so many pro- grams, we had two types of convicts. We had the hustlers and we had the survivors. The hustlers were the ones who always tried to get over…

“I think these kids can’t accept responsibility. it’s never their fault. I mean everyone I meet is innocent now-a-days”

K: What do you mean when you say ‘hustler’?

S: I mean the types of people who would steal a bar of state soap even though they had a locker full of personal soap. The types of people who had no respect for the well-being of oth- ers and who always tried to game the system. The sur- vivors just wanted to live , and every once in a while maneuver within the system. We had respect and thought about everyone who would be affected by our actions. This was our community. This was where we lived. So we treated everyone and our environment with care The hustlers thought that they could get away with everything and didn’t care if they put others at risk. I re- member when I first came to prison. I was at Old Folsom. They put us on Fish Row. At night, after 9, some of the new guys were still being loud on the tier. When one of the homies called down to them to keep it down so the other people could sleep, the guy who was making all the noise said, “F$!& you. I’ll do what I want”. The next day, one of the older homies was schooling me. I had my fish kit in my hands, and right as he was telling me about the importance of respect and how to be mindful of others – even to c/o’s and other races – here comes the guy that was making all the noise the night before, with a knife in his back. (laughs) That’s how it was back then. You learned fast.

K: You mentioned some- thing about c/o’s?

S: Why bring heat to yourself and make life hard- er? It was the same for c/o’s back then. They handled their own, too. It was so violent back then that they didn’t want to have to come to work worrying about their safety. Respect , youngster, that’s what it’s all about. At the end of the day, we are all humans, trying to make it through the day smoothly as possible. They had a job to do, and so did we.
K: It kind of seems like that’s been lost, or at least isn’t as prevalent now as it was back then. There are a lot of ‘hustlers’, today. What do you think happened?

S: Too many youngsters, and not enough old-timers to school them. Back then, the older homies sat us down, taught us manners, the do’s and don’ts, how to live and how not to live. They taught us how to carry ourselves because they actually cared.

K: Why do you think youngsters come in here so wild?

S: They didn’t have proper role models in their lives.

K: You think having a male figure is important to a child’s development?

S: Yeah. Strong women can do it, too. Kids need structure. There are a lot of kids in here, now. It’s our job to teach them. We’ve lost our sense of unity and com- munity. It takes a village. We’re all in this together, you know?

K: I know we’re in prison, but our community, this environment, can still be a place where we can grow, right?

S: Right.

K: Thank you for all of your insight. I think some guys can really learn from this interview.

S: They can and will, if they want to. That if, that’s the problem we have to fix.

Bread & Roses presents tribute to honor Audrey Auld

May 15, 2019 by David Ditto

Audrey Auld singing for Day of Peace on lower yard in SQ

A parade of San Quentin musicians entertained about 100 inmates while honoring the late folksinger Audrey Auld, a favorite performer at the prison.

“She opened up her heart; she brought her music. She was amazing!” guitarist Richie Morris said of Auld.

“Audrey’s final performance at San Quentin was the performance of a life- time—the show to top all shows. She left exhilarated. It’s an example of the healing power of music,” said Lisa Starbird of the music organization Bread & Roses.

Audrey Auld, commenting about that night: “If I died in my darling’s arms today, I would be the happiest woman knowing that I have succeeded in connecting with those men in such a true way. I am so touched by their heartfelt statements of connection and acknowledgement.”

Starbird welcomed the crowd and promised high- caliber music—after a video tribute to Australian folk singer/musician/songwriter Auld.

The Sunday night concert showcased in-house musicians in a tour-de-force of jazz, blues, funk, pop, R&B, rap and rock ’n’ roll.

Starbird told the San Quentin News that Auld brought her heart, soul, and talent into San Quentin to collaborate with incarcerated talent.

“Inmate musicians wrote lines that Audrey weaved together into songs.” Auld recorded their songs, including “Hey Warden” and “I Am Not What I Have Done” in Nashville and produced the CD in 2015. The music is available for loan in the San Quentin Catholic Chapel loaning library (on CD) and for purchase through Walkenhorst and online.

Tower of Power song accompanied by the “oohs” of the back up singers: Jason Griffin with Paul Comauex and Tony O’Neil from music group NSF. The crowd roared.

“She opened up her heart; she brought her music. She was amazing!”

The final number by Just Us, “Rejuvenation /Play That Funky Music White Boy,” burst the audience into ovation.

The solo act hip hopper “Flame” took the stage next. After a sound check, he rapped, “Ease the Pain,” then sang—a cappella—“Your Love Is Like Magic” into an R&B groove.

Gino & Friends filled the stage next, featuring Gino Sevacos on lead vocals and guitar, Mark Kinney on keyboards and vocals, and Jaspar on bass. Liam Atkins on cajon, Dwight Krizman on drums, and Chris Thomas on mandolin completed the sextet.

They played three conscious awareness songs, beginning with “Planet Love.” Gino introduced their second song, “We learn to love each other…diversity is what I like about our country.” The crowd of inmates was fired up as the band moved into its final piece, featuring “too busy to connect…” in the lyrics.

The final act was Quentin Blue, featuring three guitarists: Richie Morris on acoustic guitar, Chris Koppe on lead electric guitar, and Dwight Krizman on bass. Mark Kinney on keyboards, Liam Atkins on percussion, and Thomas on mandolin completed the group of six.

Quentin Blue began its set with “I’d Send You Home to Mama.” Morris then introduced their next piece by telling the audience, “Music is an opportunity to do something beneficial for the outside —beyond the wall.” The song, “Upward I Fall,” was a peaceful, more tranquil style, reminiscent of Guns N’ Roses’ “Patience.”

The final Spanish-sound- ing number, “Baby I Knew You Were Leaving Me,” got the audience rockin’ again. The “Olé” ending triggered applause, but signaled the end of the concert— just in time for lock-up.

Here are comments about Audrey Auld from those present: Gino Sevacos – “I knew her for 10 years. I was there for her first visit—cool, collaborative writing. Audrey was friendly, fearless, like a breath of fresh air.”

Lee Jaspar – “Her biggest impression was her willingness to bring what she loved—her music and her friendship—into this institution and make us part of her family.”

Charles Ross – “She was always warm-hearted and smiling. It’s an honor to be picked to play in her memory.”

Comments on the in-house talent concert: Chris Thomas – “This is a great venue to showcase the rehabilitation, dedication, and drive to be better people.”

Jeffrey Atkins – “It’s so nice of Lisa to showcase the in-house talent.”

Inmate in audience – “It’s always good—you always get your money’s worth around here.”

Lee Jaspar – “It was good. The evening went off really well. Thanks to Lisa—she gives tirelessly.”

Tom Lapinski of the Through The Bars Foundation – “Enjoyed watching all these musicians mixing into different bands. It was great!”

Lisa Starbird – “A wonderful success…a lot of fun having the diversity of music.”

This year marks the 40th anniversary of Bread & Roses bringing music into San Quentin State Prison. They are a nonprofit organization that sponsors volunteer music events, including about one each month inside San Quentin.

is available for loan in the San Quentin Catholic Chapel loaning library (on CD) and for purchase through Walkenhorst and online.

“Audrey came back home from Nashville because she got cancer,” Starbird said. “She died in 2015, about a month after her last performance in San Quentin.”

“In Loving Memory—We Love You 2015,” began the video featuring Auld’s folk music performance with Pam Delgado and Jeri Jones on the San Quentin Day of Peace on the prison recreation yard in April 2015. “I love you like the storm, I love you like the sea, I love you like the birds that are flying free,” Auld sang in her peace sign tie-dye t-shirt. The audience applauded the video.

Then the live music by five groups of San Quentin musicians began.

Jazz and Friends, featuring Lee “Jazz” Jaspar on electric guitar, got the crowd moving. Dwight Krizman on drums and Mark Kinney on key- boards completed the jazz trio. They began with “Impressions” by John Coltrane, followed by Jaspar singing the bluesy jazz number “Gee Baby.” Their finale, “Well You Needn’t,” energized the audience, responding with cheers.

Next up was the group Just Us featuring Jeffrey Atkins on keyboards and vocals, Charles Ross on drums, Lynn “Funky” Walker on bass and Liam “Lee” Atkins on electric guitar. They began with the ’80s pop song “Rumors.”

Then they switched to up- beat funk that got the crowd’s heads nodding and J. Atkins’ dreads flying, “giddy up,” “do some blues.” Then L. Atkins’ guitar solo took over the Tower of Power song accompanied by the “oohs” of the back up singers: JasonGriffin with Paul Comauex and Tony O’Neil from music group NSF. The crowd roared.

“She opened up her heart; she brought her music. She was amazing!”

The final number by Just Us, “Rejuvenation /Play That Funky Music White Boy,” burst the audience into ovation.

The solo act hip hopper “Flame” took the stage next. After a sound check, he rapped, “Ease the Pain,” then sang—a cappella—“Your Love Is Like Magic” into an R&B groove.

Gino & Friends filled the stage next, featuring Gino Sevacos on lead vocals and guitar, Mark Kinney on key- boards and vocals, and Jaspar on bass. Liam Atkins on cajon, Dwight Krizman on drums, and Chris Thomas on mandolin completed the sextet.

They played three conscious awareness songs, be- ginning with “Planet Love.” Gino introduced their second song, “We learn to love

each other…diversity is what I like about our country.” The crowd of inmates was fired up as the band moved into its final piece, featuring “too busy to connect…” in the lyrics.

Lee Jaspar – “Her biggest impression was her willingness to bring what she loved—her music and her friendship—into this institution and make us part of her family.”

Charles Ross – “She was always warm-hearted and smiling. It’s an honor to be picked to play in her memo- ry.”

Comments on the in-house talent concert: Chris Thomas – “This is a great venue to showcase the rehabilitation, dedication, and drive to be better people.”

Jeffrey Atkins – “It’s so nice of Lisa to showcase the in-house talent.”

Inmate in audience – “It’s always good—you always get your money’s worth around here.”

Lee Jaspar – “It was good. The evening went off really well. Thanks to Lisa—she gives tirelessly.”

Tom Lapinski of the Through The Bars Foundation – “Enjoyed watching all these musicians mixing into different bands. It was great!”

Lisa Starbird – “A wonderful success…a lot of fun having the diversity of music.”

This year marks the 40th anniversary of Bread & Roses, a nonprofit organization that sponsors volunteer music events, including about one each month inside San Quentin.

Shedding reputation to step into a new role in society

May 15, 2019 by San Quentin News Contributer

KidCAT Speaks!

Editor’s Note: This is the third in a three-part series on the cost of earning a reputation in prison.

A person can earn a bad reputation in prison for any number of reasons: being a snitch, a drop-out (former gang member), a child rapist or a homosexual.

Prisoners with those reputations are often ostracized, assaulted, extorted or even murdered.

On some cases, it can lead to real-world consequences. From the age of 12 to 18, 41-year-old San Quentin in- mate Richard Solano attend- ed 22 funerals of his fellow gang members.
“Ten months before my current incarceration, I was identified in my neighbor- hood as a drop-out in prison and was shot by members of my former gang,” said So- lano, 41, on his sixth term of incarceration. “I was given a code to live by when I became a gang member. I knew the ultimate consequences of breaking that code could mean being murdered by my own gang. This code applied in prison and it applied in my neighborhood.”

Solano joined a gang at age 12 and was the third generation in his family to do so.

“Being a gang member was all I knew growing up, and it was a full time job,” Solano said. “It entailed protecting our neighborhood from rival gangs, committing retaliations, selling drugs and collecting debts.”

“By living up to the expectations of the gang, you earned a reputation as a solid individual; this, in turn, earns you respect, position and opportunities to make money,” he added. “However, when you fall short of those expectations, the consequences was getting ‘checked’ by your peers. This meant getting beat up or placed on a mission to reclaim your reputation as a loyal gang member.”

The severest punishments are reserved for those who snitch or leave the gang; a member could be murdered for either.

Solano accumulated 10 arrests between the ages of 12 and 41—four as a juvenile and six as an adult.

“When I first came to prison at 18 years old, it felt like a homecoming,” Solano said. “Old enemies in the street were now my best allies—we were all united.

“On the flip side, being a member of my gang in prison meant that we were aligned to a bigger entity with one purpose – to generate money for a larger criminal organization.”

After successive prison terms, Solano began questioning his gang allegiance.

One of the turning points for Solano came when two of his childhood best friends from his gang were murdered by three of his other childhood best friends.

“I was devastated by the loss of my friends, and it made me realize that there was no loyalty in my gang,” Solano said. “I really regret- ted not having enough courage to set aside my pride to live for my family and myself sooner.”

During his third prison term in 2004, Solano renounced his gang affiliation.

His wakeup call came when he was sent to solitary confinement for conspiracy to traffic narcotics. While there, he ran into his older brother, who was in protective custody. Solano started reaching out to him, but his gang told him that he couldn’t talk to his brother.

Active gang members are not permitted to associate with “non-active” gang members—even if they’re family.

“After I got into a fight with my cellmate over this is- sue, I made a decision to join my brother in protective custody,” Solano said.

“When I made that decision, I set myself free from the bondage of my gang, but I also knew I would have enemies.”

After dropping out of his gang, Solano remained in the criminal lifestyle.

“Being a drop-out didn’t affect my activities when I got out of prison. I still sold drugs and people kept com- ing to me, knowing that I had a reputation to handle my business,” Solano said.

His continued criminal lifestyle led him to his latest incarceration.

In spite of his prison status as a protective custody (Sensitive Needs Yard-SNY) inmate, Solano found himself being integrated back into general population in his re- cent return to prison.

“I was told by my counselor that they had been sending SNYs since January to San Quentin, but when I arrived, long and behold I was one of the first,” he said.

As of Jan 1, San Quentin became a non-designated prison where general population inmates and SNY inmates are housed together.

As a “non-active” gang member, Solano and others who are known as drop-outs were targeted by active gang members when they first arrived.

Since his arrival in April, Solano has been in multiple fights, once against three active gang members.

In spite of these confrontations, Solano expresses gratitude for being in San Quentin.

“After 41 years, I finally rediscovered myself in here and, in the process, I’ve also found my voice,” he said.

Solano served as a member of the Men’s Advisory Council in San Quentin, advocating for SNY inmates.

Solano’s leadership helped reduce conflict between SNY and general population inmates.

“When I was younger, I tried to build a reputation as a solid gang member, but this resulted in multiple terms of incarceration and getting shot,” Solano said. “This time when I get out, I’ll work on giving my life back to society and steering the youth in the right direction,” says Solano. “At the end of the day, only your family truly matters; their love is unconditional.”

Solano paroled in September. Is the pursuit of a “good” reputation by prisoners out of touch with society?

It is not, according to a study conducted by psychologists at the University of North Carolina.

In its online survey of 111 Americans, it found 53% would choose immediate death over a long life as a suspected child molester; and 30% would take immediate death over a long and happy life followed by postmortem rumors of child molestation.

Additionally, 40% of those surveyed said they would choose a year in jail and a clean reputation over no jail and a criminal reputation.

“Incarceration is directly harmful, but reputation is what helps you gain access to all of the things you want in society,” said Andy Vonasch, lead psychologist in the study.

Any inmates interested in receiving the KidCAT curriculum must ask the Community Partnership Manager (CPM) at their facility to contact the CPM at San Quentin. As of February, 2019, KidCAT’s curriculum can only be distributed to inmates through their CPM.