San Quentin News

Written By Inmates - Advancing Social Justice

In-Depth: Charles ‘Pookie’ Sylvester striving to be part of SQ’s sports program

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When we are thinking of iconic athletes that have been housed at The Q, there has been only one who has personified what it actually means to be a teammate.

Charles Sylvester – also known as Pookie – made his mark in sports at The Q in 2012 when the West Block Warlocks beat All Madden Flag Football team on MLK Jr. holiday game in January 2012. Pookie was open for a pass in the end zone, however, qb John Windham didn’t see him, leaving the pocket and running for a touch- down. It was Pookie who threw the block that got the qb over the line. In March of 2012, Pookie was passed over when he tried out for the 40 & Over SQ Kings. He then tried out for the SQ Warriors, and was passed over again.

Sylvester and Jacques Verdun at GRIP graduation in June 2019

Pookie has never quit trying nor has he ever waivered in his striving to be a part of the sports programs at The Q. He finally made both teams, and although he never started a game, he played his role as a supporter from the bench until it was his time to play.

Pookie is also known for his trademark Intramural Basketball League teams, called “Pookie & The Boys.”

He finally won a championship at The Q in the CBL with No Fair Ones in 2014.

Pookie personifies the hashtag #Sports@TheQ and it is my honor to introduce him to our readers.

AT: You’ve been playing sports all your life?

Pookie: Yeah, since ele- mentary school. Football and Basketball.

AT: You played High School ball?

Pookie: Yeah, for Fremont High in Los Angeles. Point guard for the varsity, But, no football.

AT: Did you play any col- lege ball?

Pookie: I went to West L.A. in Culver City and to

Los Angeles City College to play ball, but it was a big mess so I didn’t play.

Sylvester in the 2019 Annual 1000 Mile ClubMarathon

AT: You first appeared in The Show at CTF-Soledad during the flag football season in 2011, then here at The Q for two years. Now, you’re being interviewed for the San Quentin Sports; what have you actually done in sports to get so much recognition and publicity?

Pookie: That’s the big question! (We both start laughing at this) My hustle? My defense? Everybody keep my name in their mouth so much (he laughs even harder), so I guess I’m a somebody! Whether I do good or bad, everybody

saying or chanting “Pookie! Pookie!”

AT: (Laughing) What self- help groups have you taken?

Pookie: (Catching his breath from the laughter) Alternatives to Violence Program, Restorative Justice, Criminals and Gangsters Anonymous, Project LA and GRIP (Guiding Rage Into Power).

AT: Did you get your GED since you’ve been inside?

Pookie: Yeah, in 2010. I graduated in full regalia.

AT: Okay, fun time. Name your top five favorite movies. Pookie: Beverly Hills Cop 1, Enemy of the State, Independence Day, Friday

the 13th and Phantasm.

AT: Name your top five all-time favorite R&B songs.

Pookie: “Fortunately” by Maxwell, “Lets Chill” by Guy, “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye, “The Whole Town is Laughing at Me” by Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes, and “Can You Stand The Rain” by New Edition.

AT: Name your top five all-time favorite basketball players.

Pookie: Magic Johnson, Michael Cooper, Kobe Bryant, Tim Duncan and Scottie Pippen.

AT: You get to say one sentence to a group of 13 year olds. What do you say?

Pookie: “Respect your parents,” It’s as simple as that.

AT: Thanks for giving the people some of your time Pookie, its appreciated. It took some time to get around to this interview, so you have the closing word.

Sylvester guarding GS Warriors Asst. GM Kirk Lacob in 2016

Pookie: My hats off to The Q for all the love and publicity to me, Pookie, and I’d like to thank all the brown card holders that come in and facilitate these sports programs. Also to the game officials and to the people that take part on the court and field, thanks. And, to the fans because, without them, the game wouldn’t be exciting. Appreciate yall.

In-Depth: From Eastern Europe, Alexandru Singuru

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Alex is an Eastern European native of Moldova, and his family migrated to Sacramento when he was ten.

He went to Highlands High School, playing volleyball, tennis, soccer and cross country running – his favorite sport.

At 15, he started playing basketball just to stay in shape, however, he fell in love with the game and has played it ever since.

He’s soft spoken but firm in speech, and when you talk to him, you can pick up his European accent.

AT: Whats your native tongue?

AS: Romanian.

AT: Do you still speak it fluently?

AS: Yes.

AT: Speak some Romanian.

AS: Tu nustii ce spun eu, da poti sa incerci? (Would you even know what I’m saying ?)

AT: No, but since I do speak several languages, I thought I’d throw that out there! (We both laugh at this) Okay, you arrive in the U.S. as a kid, playing futbol; was it an advantage in school?

AS: It wasn’t an advantage, more of a connection. Not knowing the language, it was easy for me to play futbol, then make friends; it made transitioning to being an American easier.

AT: Did having dribbling skills in futbol make it easier when you started playing basketball?

AS: Oh yeah, much easier. It was same as futbol, except now I’m dribbling with my hands.

AT: You started for Highlands High with basketball as a freshman coming off the bench for the JV Squad?

AS: Yeah, then the following year, as a sophomore, I went to the varisty, coming off the bench. Then, my junior and senior years, I started. In my junior year, we went to the section finals and lost that game by two points. My senior year, we had a good year, but lost in the second round.

AT: In Cross Country, you had collegiate scouts come check you out?

AS: Yes, I was league mvp in running at Highlands High. Scouts came from William Jessup University (Sacramento), offering me a scholarship.

AT: Okay, you end up here though with five years, qualifying for level two. How have you adjusted to sports at The Q?

AS: Same way as when I arrived in the U.S. I’m connecting with people through basketball.

AT: You get drafted in the fourth round of the CBL (Championship Basketball League) and now leading the league in assists; you’ve also caught the attention of the SQ Warriors coaching staff. Have you thought about next season and what you want to do?

AS: I mean, I obviously want to play. I don’t care if I start, come off the bench, whatever. That’s why I joined the CBL. I just wanna play ball. I don’t care about the other stuff – I know I’m new, but I play team ball, and if team ball means I come off the bench, sobeit. As long as I have the chance to prove myself and prove to be a good teammate. I have the ball a lot in my hands. I can get indecisive, make a bad decision and my turnovers go up. I should be more selfish, but I don’t ball that way, and because of that, my turnovers have been high in the CBL. But, if making a pass highlights my team’s ability? I’ll take that over my own scoring. Maybe I could be more selfish, but that’s not my game.

AT: How has your family adjusted to you being in prison?

AS: It was hard for them and me. Now, they’re supportive, telling me to learn from my mistakes. Don’t repeat the same thing that got me in here.

AT: Whats the one thing that you’ve learned about yourself during this past year of incarceration that you didn’t or weren’t aware of previously?

AS: Just the knowledge of others around me, being around guys that’s been inside for decades — not letting one mistake define your future. I’m getting wisdom from all races, all ethnicities, and I’m not limited and refuse to be limited in my thinking. I’m an independent minded person and I think for myself, so wisdom is coming from all angles. I don’t want to come back to prison again, ever, so I’m learning how to be successful in the right way while I’m here.

AT: Thank you for sharing with the people some of who you are. Anything you want to say to The Q’s population and the broader audience?

AS: Its been a good opportunity to share with the people and be a part of something inside, the CBL and the SQ Warriors next season hopefully. Thanks to my fam ily for being there for me. It’s an obstacle but I’m learning, and to my friends and others, don’t worry. I’m doing positive work in here so that I don’t come back.

A profile of success: Antwan "Banks" Williams

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Ear Hustle cofounder has lasting impact on his community – both inside and out of prison

Antwan “Banks” Williams

Antwan “Banks” Williams, 31, one of the co-founders of the celebrated podcast Ear Hustle, paroled from San Quentin in October. Imprisoned at the dawn of adulthood, he had to mature behind bars.

Williams said he “can’t fathom” what it’s like to be outside prison. “The sad reality is there are people in here that I may never see outside these walls.” He said he’s leaving with a heavy heart.

“A big part of who I am stems from the people in here,” said Williams. “All of you have shaped who I am. You guys have been my family.”

“I grew up in prison,” he added, “ and I don’t know what my life is going to look like without it.”

Antwan “Banks” Williams, Nigel Poor and Earlonne Woods

Most of the men at San Quentin know Williams by the moniker “Banks,” a name given to him in the Los Angeles county jail by other prisoners who thought he was arrested for robbing “banks” because his bail was set at $7.3 million.

“I couldn’t bail out,” said Williams, convicted of one count of robbery, but with a gun enhancement.

Williams told a gather- ing of admirers in the San Quentin Media Center the day before he walked out: “I’ve been in this place longer than I’ve lived in any place my entire life.”

Tears flowed and emotions ran high as the men, volunteers and staff shared their stories of how they came to know Williams and their working relation- ship, friendships and bonds formed over the years.

Brian Asey first met Williams in 2011 when he transferred to San Quentin from Old Folsom. “I watched (Williams) grow from the hot-headed, emotional, hard person that he was to the mature and thoughtful man that he is today,” said Asey.

“I grew up in prison and I don’t know what my life is going to look like without it”

“It’s been amazing, and when I think about him leaving, I think about all we’ve gone through to put the pod-cast together,” said Sacramento State Professor Nigel Poor, a volunteer, co-host and co-creator of Ear Hustle. She said Williams was part of the creative influence and now that he has paroled, “I don’t know who’s going to be that creative person.”

Williams, like the other men who work in the media center, started out as a volunteer when there was little opportunity. “You have to gently fight your way into the media center and make it work, but there’s a camaraderie,” said Poor. “It’s going to be interesting to see how the media lab will be changing as more and more people get out.”

“I hope that (Williams) works with young people,” said Poor. He can inspire them, she said, adding, “I feel like that’s his calling.”

“When my specific tal- ents weren’t needed, people kept telling me I need to be there” (in the media center), said Williams, so he stuck it out by providing artwork and music, while keeping the workplace positive with his easy-going personality.

“He made this prison a better place and now he’s going to make this world a better place,” said Rahsaan (New York) Thomas, co-host of Ear Hustle. He described Williams as “talented and humble.”

“Banks (Williams) is like the talented little brother that I never had,” said Greg Eskridge, an inmate who volunteers at SQ Radio. “We all started this radio program together in this little room.”

Williams was sentenced to 15 years. He served 13 years, eight of which were at San Quentin, where he arrived on November 8, 2011. He left Old Folsom for San Quentin as a result of Assembly Bill 109, California’s plan to reduce its prison population. A number of San Quentin inmates had been moved to county jails. After his arrival, Williams met Earlonne Woods, the other Ear Hustle co-founder, who paroled last year.

Prior to his arrival at San Quentin, Williams served time at Kern Valley State Prison, California State Prison Corcoran, and Folsom State Prison.

Before his last day in prison, California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) public information officers Alexandra Powell and Ike Dodson arrived to videotape Williams. They planned to video him parol- ing the following morning as well.

“A big part of who I am stems from the people in here. All of you have shaped who I am. You guys have been my family”

“We’re here to capture Antwan’s (Williams’) experience as he prepares to leave prison,” said Powell. “We’ve been trying to tell stories of both those in prison and the people that make programs work.”

Powell said the CDCR is very interested in what pro- grams work inside of prison to influence successful reentry back to society.

Williams said it’s not the groups, programs or self- help groups that make San Quentin though. He said it’s the men that make it a “community.”

Dodson said he got to know Williams the first time the CDCR’s Office of Public and Employee Communications came to San Quentin to cover a story about Ear Hustle.

“I thought it would be cool to share that story,” said Dodson. “When you get to know people inside, you build a relationship. This is a very important moment for Antwan.”

“Anybody would miss where they’ve grown up,” said Poor, who teaches art at the Sacramento campus, in reference to Williams spending so much of his adult life in prison. “I hope (paroling) will be everything that he dreams it to be. It’s going to feel empty when I come to work tomorrow.”

Street Spirit Editor in Chief Alastair Boone talks about her work

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Alastair Boone is the editor-in-chief of a publication aiming to empower its target population. Street Spirit is a San Francisco Bay Area-based homeless advocacy newspaper. Local un- housed residents run the paper, which was founded in 1995.

During a visit to San Quentin last May, Boone shared her story and explained that under her direction Street Spirit will continue to grow. The native San Franciscan said she’d like to end the prison-to street-to prison cycle. “I watched the people on the street grow exponentially. It’s impossible to ignore,” said Street Spirit’s new leader.

Boone visited San Quentin News where she volunteers as an advisor for the newspaper’s magazine, Wall City. During a question and answer session, Boone shared the experience, insight and knowledge she gleaned during her career.

Boone’s story begins with her roots in the Bay Area. The 25-year-old received her Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and Creative Writing from University of California, Berkeley in 2016. The following year, she relocated to the East Coast to begin her journalistic career with Atlantic Media’s City Lab in Washington D.C.

Boone wanted to make a “journalistic impact,” but she found her responsibilities at City Lab impersonal and dull, so she came home. Boone’s return coincided with new owner- ship at Street Spirit. Soon after changing hands, Street Spirit’s editor-in-chief, Terry Mess- man, announced his retirement.

Boone took on the position as the paper’s first female editor-in-chief. As the paper’s only full-time employee, Boone works as a voice for what she described as an under-resourced—and expanding—population. “I have big shoes to fill,” said the new editor-in-chief.

As a new editor, Boone wanted more experience. A colleague recommended she volunteer for the San Quentin News. At SQ’s news office, she quickly discovered the similarities between SQ News, Street Spirit and the communities they serve.

Both communities are disenfranchised and marginalized; both contain unheard voices, she said. “Incarcerated people have the same issues as the homeless,” she told a full classroom.

According to the Prison Policy Initiative, former inmates are almost 10 times more likely to be homeless than the general public.

The similarities became concrete when Boone said she discovered major flaws in the Alameda County’s homeless count. On the annual count of Oakland’s homeless population Boone spent an early morning looking un- successfully for un-housed people in the winter cold. She couldn’t find a single home- less person to count, despite knowing they lived in the neighborhood she patrolled.

“How is this possible, especially in a city where its high-visibility homelessness problem was recently designated a humanitarian crisis by the United Nations?” she asked.

Boone described discrepancies in the way the home- less are counted and how methods vary within government agencies. She stressed the need for accuracy between federal groups like HUD and local groups such as Alameda County’s census takers which takes census called the Point in Time Count.

Boone believes this count, which happens every two years, “must unify the definition of homelessness and in- sure the accuracy of data gathered by each group,” she said.

Accuracy becomes her focus as the counts influence budget allocations to homelessness outreach groups throughout the Bay Area. “There is no doubt the homeless are under- counted in every region of the United States,” said Boone.

During her tenure at Street Spirit, Boone has learned 80% of the Bay Area’s homeless who were priced out of the market or who had become victim of the dotcom sprawl, were tenants or homeowners themselves, living in homes up to five years earlier. She also agreed that approximately 60-65,000 San Franciscans live in their vehicles.

Her strategic plan for the growth of Street Spirit includes securing a new distribution partner for the paper in Oakland while increasing her staff. She is also partnering with web creator Design Action Collective to build a web site for Street Spirit. These objectives are in line with her vi- sion to become a “go-to” news source for homelessness news.

“A robust web site is critical to reaching this goal,” she told SQ News.

Another long-term vision includes initiating a writing workshop where unhoused people can come to process the stories they want to tell. She believes the people in her workshop will gain confidence in their ability to communicate in writing.

Her goals also include the creation of a San Quentin Style newsroom, a goal that for now seems like a “dream world” away.

“We are fortunate to be in one of the most progressive regions in the world, and I believe we will not turn a deaf ear to this epidemic,” said Boone.

Becoming one of the nation’s leading advocates for the homeless, Boone hopes to give the population a platform for safe affordable housing, while affording them the dignity to re-evolve back into society.

“This is the city I live in. I’m going to take responsibility,” she said.

Program helps at risk youth through music

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John Wallace at his studio

John Wallace went to jail and prison19 times, starting at age 18. Then he was sent to San Quentin, where he served two terms and started writing rap lyrics on his last trip there in the prison’s West Block.

An initial opening to a career in music happened by chance when Wallace and other inmates created what he described as a “radio show” called K-FU** Radio in the cell block where they would sing, rap and tell jokes at night. He said it was like comedy night in the cell block, and it inspired him to write music.

“We made the best of our time,” said Wallace, now 41 years old and nearly a decade removed from criminal activity.

Wallace said when he paroled, he experimented with drugs and got involved with gangs and later left both alone. “I didn’t want to come back” (to prison), said Wallace. “I was exhausted and wanted to make some changes.”

When he ran the streets, his family used to tell him he was disgracing himself. But what made him enter recovery was something his daughter said to him on Father’s Day. “I don’t want to bury my father,” she told him.

Feeling humiliated, embarrassed and shame, Wallace decided to deal with his addiction.

Another change came in the form of music. After serving time at California Rehabilitation Center, California Medical Facility- Vacaville, and the ranch at Folsom State Prison, Wallace paroled for the last time in 2008 and discharged from parole in 2011.

John Wallace and David Jassy at SQ media center

Getting out of prison, Wallace said it made him realize his real friends didn’t offer him drugs or try to invite him to commit criminal activity. His good friends, he said, encouraged him to go to school.

Wallace returned to San Quentin in May. But this time he wasn’t wearing prison blues. Dressed in all black attire with red, high-top Timberland boots, he visited the prison’s media center to dis- cuss his nonprofit Surviving The Odds Project, STOP for short, where he is the founder and CEO.

Wallace’s wife, Melissa Greene, is the co-founder and executive director of STOP. She said “John is the face of the program,” and she works behind the scene. We’re “so opposite but (we) work well together,” she said.

“I was trying to hold back tears,” said Wallace. “It was emotional coming back. It’s eye opening to come here.”

“STOP will improve the lives of local youth through engagement in therapeutic self-exploration and self- expression by providing an innovative music and video production program to the underserved and margialized…population in Marin County,” its website says.

Wallace learned about equipment and video production at Community Media Center of Marin. While in the Marin county jail, he learned about a grant for mental health. He said funding was available for people to write about life experiences, so he applied.

Wallace said it was Cesar LaGleva of Behavioral Health and Recovery Services, who clued him in on available funding for kids. LaGleva’s wife, Liz Prior, is the principle viola player for the Marin Symphony.

STOP participants at the studio headquarters

STOP targets at-risk youth who attend Marin County schools, such as Marin Oaks High School, Madrone, and San Andreas. “The kids are really getting an opportunity by coming through our program,” said Wallace. He built a multimedia studio at Marin Oaks, where he decided to make the studio a one-stop shop.

“Kids hear about the program through word of mouth,” said Wallace. “And no experience is necessary for kids to participate in STOP.”

Youth participants of STOP program

The program starts with a group of about 15 kids. Wallace said about 11 to 12 finish the program. which meets twice a week for several months. There, they feed the kids, teach them song writing, recording and videotaping skills.

Wallace does on the outside what artist and producer David Jassy does with youth offenders on the inside of San Quentin. The two met in the prison’s media center and shared some ideas. Jassy extended an invitation to Wallace to participate in the 16 Barz Behind Bars project at the prison.

“I think it’s cool for you to come back to do 16 Bars Behind Bars,” said Jassy.

Jassy said “Some people don’t understand the impact this music has on kids.” He said Wallace’s influence will help make a difference.

Jassy prepared Wallace to record a few rap lyrics. After Wallace selected music created by Jassy he was ready to record.

On playback they overdubbed some ad lib tracks and layered the previous vocals with a duplicate track to expand the dynamic presence of the sound. The two of them discussed the possibility of STOP, YOP mix tape inmates and San Quentin’s SQUIRES program collaborating to help youth inside and outside of prison.

“I’m super excited to work with you, especially from prison,” Wallace told Jassy.

One man’s journey to inner freedom occurred through sports

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Brian Holliday
Brian Holliday

Brian Holliday, 25, from Orange County, Ca., is serving a six-year sentence for a robbery. Holliday also had issues with race relations based on being placed in a facility where the inmate population self-segregated. Since arriving at The Q and getting involved with the San Quentin Athletic Association (SQAA), his thinking has evolved…

SQN: What’s it been like being a college student here at The Q?

BH: It’s given me an opportunity to be enrolled in college. I wasn’t going to do this on the street. It’s a chance to get a free education, real college level.

SQN: Did you have a high school diploma before coming to prison?

BH: Yes, after I was expelled from the Saddleback school district in Orange County, Ca.

SQN: Which classes are you enrolled in?

BH: English 101A, I had to start from English 99A, then 99B.

SQN: Is that where you read some African American literature for the first time?

BH: Yes. Martin Luther King Jr.’s ‘Letters from the Birmingham Jail’; I also read Emile Deweaver’s essay.

SQN: How has playing sports at The Q changed your social views?

BH: First off, it was the integrated sports. Before The Q, I never played sports with Blacks or Asians in prison. I came from California Rehabilitation Center (CRC), and it’s still racially segregated. However, here at San Quentin, I have some good people around me. I saw it was cool. Brandon Riddle Terrell, a fellow player on the team, re- ally helped me to adjust and helped me see what this was about…

SQN: What self-help groups are you in?

BH: Criminals and Gangsters Anonymous, Coalition For Justice, and Youth Offender Program.

SQN: What type of work do you do?

BH: Building maintenance, CTE (Construction Technology Employment), and Computer Literacy… I completed that at CRC.

SQN: What’s the program like at CRC?

BH: It’s not integrated except for bunks. Everything else is segregated.

SQN: And how has The Q and the self-help groups helped you transition in your thinking?

BH: I play baseball, softball and soccer, basketball a little, as well as handball. Taught me to deal with personalities and learning patience… I was still having racial issues at first. I had a Black coach and Black team mates and taking orders at first was tough. … But the white guys on the team helped me to see that it wasn’t the skin shade that was getting me. It was me learning to expand my thinking and accepting constructive criticism and look past the color.

SQN: What advice would you give a young person coming into CDCR at this time, under the current changes, who was seeking to get home as fast as possible?

BH: Look, I’m here. I’m on the baseball team. There’s self-help groups… there’s no politics at The Q. At the end of the day, I’m not coming back to prison… so don’t let anybody prevent you from getting yourself in a position to get home. Do your time, put your blinders on, and do what’s best for you.

SQN: You get to speak to a 13-year-old Brian… but you only get one sentence to say to yourself. What do you say?

BH: Be you.

SQN: Thanks for doing this interview.

BH: No, thank you.

San Quentin Warriors have a new head coach

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Anthony Evans, Warriors New Head Coach
Anthony Evans, Warriors New Head Coach

The San Quentin Warriors come into the 2019 season 3-4 against the Golden State Warriors coaching staff—the biggest game of each season, and also having the coach for the last two seasons step down to attempt to become a player on the team again. On 2/10/2019, while watching the Lakers v. Sixers on ESPN/ABC, we touched on these issues with the new coach of the San Quentin Warriors, Anthony Evans, in the following interview.

SQN: Coach, what’s your philosophy for upcoming season? I’ve heard that the old playbook is out. Is that true?

Evans: Yes. The old play- it looks like algebra to some of the players. With anything with more than one moving part—it only takes one moving part to throw the whole thing into chaos. For that reason, we’re going back to a more freestyle form of basketball.

SQN: With The Q becoming a non-designated yard, does that mean any special consideration for players arriving here seeking to get a spot on the team? Has anyone tried to say to you that you have to have certain types of people on the team?

Evans: No. When I came into the meeting for consideration of becoming the coach, I established that there’s no strings attached to the position. No one has a guaranteed spot. There’s 15 jerseys and each one is up for grabs. I run this team as I see fit, period. There are no quotas, no limitations, no reserved seating, none of that. We’re looking for the elite players on the yard.

SQN: So, does that mean that each player on the team is there based on their ability to play the game and their knowledge of the game?

Evans: Yes and no, for the most part, yes. Its ability, effort and the style of basket- ball that I envision.

SQN: Does a person’s attitude have a role in making the team?

Evans: Yes! Cancers spread.

SQN: How do you deal with a player that receives a 115? (Rules Violation Report) I noticed the past two sea- sons, the previous coach has sat some big name players on the bench for some big games due to this issue…

Evans: Being an assistant the past two seasons, I was in full agreement then, and that policy still stands.

SQN: It’s the worst kept secret at The Q that there have been or are currently players that are either openly or secretly members of the LGBTQ community involved in the sports programs. How do you approach this issue with the Warriors?

Evans: Same as the military: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. There’s no locker rooms, nor do we ask what a person does in their personal time away from the game. It actually has zero to do with the game, so, no, it’s not an issue. If it becomes an issue, we’ll address it in a closed team meeting and deal with it. We’ll ask about that persons’ medical status – in confidence – and if it’s possible that they can expose others, then we’ll address that – in confidence. We’re not here to openly embarrass people, nor to expose their personal business. My duty is to protect all players my team and the visitors, on the court. We’re here for self-help, empowerment, community enrichment, and all that’s founded on playing basketball.

SQN: What are your goals for the team this season?

Evans: We’ve from a team to program over the past two years, so now it’s about adding “a winning program” to the resume.

SQN: I noticed you went and found two really good veteran players and brought them onto the coaching staff; what do they bring to the table that you think will improve the team?

Evans: Fifty years of experience on the court; a working knowledge of the game. Some veteran leadership and some teachable skill sets

SQN: Rapid Fire questions… I’m going to say something and you give the first word/phrase that comes to mind, okay?

1. March Madness: Excitement!

2. Bob Myers: Wonderful! 3. 1⁄2 Man 1⁄2 Amazing (Anthony Ammons): Bedrock of the team.


4. Kurt & Kent Lacob: The ultimate humanitarians. 5. LeBron James: Best in the game.


6. Bobby Knight: Great tactician, but I would never have sent my child to Indiana!

7. Kevin Durant: Still growing

8. Harry Smith (ATL): Work in progress

SQN: Thanks for the time coach.

Evans: Looking forward to a competitive and exciting season. I thank all the coaches, former coaches and peers who thought me worthy to be the coach and I was humbled by that. I hope to reward their trust in the program.

Robert Polzin loves different sports for more reasons than the game

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Robert Polzin on the mound at San Quentin
Robert Polzin on the mound at San Quentin

Robert Polzin aka “Big Smooth” is one of the most active persons in sports at San Quentin and he will tell you it’s not simply for the love of the game.

“It’s hard for some guys to learn things out of a book. It’s often the real life situations that help us develop real life skills,” said Polzin.

Polzin plays baseball for the SQ Oakland Athletics, the SQ Kings, and he even coaches the “Hardtimers” softball team. He said coaching and playing are equally enjoyable and help him further develop coping skills.

Polzin is the youngest of five children from a small farming town in New Prague, Minn. He came to California in 1980 and lived in the Bay Area most of his life.

The 46-year-old Polzin found himself back in prison on a parole violation for fighting. In order for the lifer to be released back to San Jose by a parole board, he has to deal with his anger issues first. He said he has taken several self-help programs like Victim Offender Education Groups (VOEG), Next Step, Non-Violent Communication, Guiding Rage Into Power, Addiction Recovery Counselor (ARC), Alliance For Change, and Restorative Justice.

He considers sports as a self-help group as well.

“It is sports that allow me to see value in myself,” Polzin said.

Polzin arrived at San Quentin in 2017 and put on a baseball uniform. It was “Red,” a friend Polzin knew from another prison, that nicknamed him “Big Smooth” for his effortless style of fielding the ball, which can be difficult for a big guy over six feet tall.

Polzin loves playing first base, right field, and he likes to pitch. He likes the camaraderie and sense of community he experiences among the many ethnicities out on the field

“Playing sports is about being part of something bigger than yourself,” said Polzin.

He sees it as an opportunity to reach out to the younger generation—to say I’m here to help you get through the rough times. What Polzin learns in his self-help groups, he shares out on the field. It helps him and others to develop the tough skin needed to deal with hecklers, losing and not living up to your best potential.

“Whether you do it for exercise or releasing the negative energy, playing sports helps make you feel like you matter,” Polzin said. “People depend on you and you don’t want to let them down.”

Polzin finds it “humbling” when people walk up to him after games and say, “Thank you for helping me keep my cool out on the field today.”

Polzin has always found himself in management or supervisory skill jobs. Before the Hardtimers, he coached Little League on the streets and started several softball teams at other prisons.

This baseball season, Polzin hopes to become a better hitter, a better offensive player and a better mentor to the younger guys on the Athletics. As coach of the “Hardtimers” he has already accomplished the goal of getting them more games and a longer season.

“We like to win, but it’s not always about winning and losing,” said Polzin. “It’s also about meeting and getting to know the visiting teams who come in from the streets.”

According to Polzin, the visiting teams remind you that you are actually human, that there is a real world out there waiting for you to return. They provide spiritual and emotional support.

“The visiting teams keep you connected to the outside world and become a great support network for those of us who need it,” he said.

Polzin imagines a prison without sports would be, “a yard full of people fighting for space. Violence would increase. It’s that age old adage, ‘an idle mind is the devil’s workshop.’”

Polzin admits that he always knew the power of playing sports, but he lost focus.

“You have to keep applying the principles and coping skills that make us a success in life,” Polzin said. “We cannot allow ourselves to stop doing good and practicing to become better people.”

Amid a turbulent life basketball surfaced as a guiding force for good

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Golden State Warriors Assistant GM Kirk Lacob (green jersey) guarding Jamal Harrison (Warriors #3) on the San Quentin lower yard as Patrick Lacey challenges Delvon Adams
Golden State Warriors Assistant GM Kirk Lacob (green jersey) guarding Jamal Harrison (Warriors #3) on the San Quentin lower yard as Patrick Lacey challenges Delvon Adams

Oakland, Calif., has a rich, storied history of basketball talent that stretches from Bill Russell (McClymonds High School) to Damian Lilliard (Oakland High School). From iconic playgrounds like Moss- wood Park, to Harmon Gym on the UC Berkeley Campus, where Oakland native Jason Kidd earned his stripes, “The Town” brand of hoops has left its mark. Jamal Harrison grew up in this culture, soaking up the expertise of his predecessors.

For visitors to the lower yard, who have watched the San Quentin Kings basketball team, “Mal” is a playmaker and quiet leader on the court, but most people don’t know the journey he’s taken to get here.

Harrison said he grew up tagging along with his two older brothers as they played ball around Oakland. He tried to imitate their movements. Watching them, he said, helped him develop his own style; he became known as a fierce competitor on the blacktop.

But basketball wouldn’t save Jamal from the realities of life in the inner city. Family problems prompted him to run away from home at the age of 14. He met his father for the first time at 15. That same year, because of increasing problems at home, he moved to Texas to live with his Dad. The Lone Star State presented new opportunities and Jamal played on his high school basketball team there. It was his first experience with the concepts of teamwork, coaching and basketball fundamentals.

Harrison moved back to Oakland at 16 and joined Castlemont High School’s basketball team. He played in popular local tournaments at places like the 85th Ave Boys and Girls Club, Brookfield, the 65th Village, and YAP in Berkeley.

Jamal loved the NBA and followed local stars like Gary Payton, Jason Kidd, Isaiah Rider and Antonio Davis. However, his idol, like most kids at the time, was Michael Jordan.

“I wanted to be 6’6” like MJ”, says Harrison, adding, as if remorseful, “but J. Kidd is my favorite player of all time.”

Even as his basketball game developed, drama at home prompted him to find sanctuary in the streets. He got into trouble and ended up being kicked off the Castlemont High team and out of the basketball tournament circuit.

At 18, Harrison joined the military to escape his surroundings. He chose the Navy, because of his admiration of “The Admiral” David Robinson, who went from the Naval Academy to the NBA. Jamal played for the USS Kittyhawk (CV63) and from there tried to get on the All- Navy team.

In the Navy, “I really started to learn what goes into the game of basketball, the preparation, techniques, and fine points,” Harrison said.

The highlights of his Naval basketball career include playing a semi-pro game in Tasmania, Australia, and signing autographs for fans. In his highest scoring game, in Bremerton, Wash., he scored 25 points and dunked on an opposing player who was 6’9.

In spite of all of this success, old demons resurfaced. Harrison went AWOL twice after multiple disciplinary infractions. He said he was ultimately released from service with an “other than honorable discharge” after two and a half years in uniform.

Back in Oakland, Harrison got a job.

“I tried to go straight but I wasn’t making enough money, so I got influenced by the streets,” he said.

This new direction had him in and out of jail and prison. Ultimately he landed at San Quentin, where he became part of the Kings.

Kings’ starting point guard Oris “Pep” Williams describes Harrison as, “a quiet leader on the court and great teammate. Off the court, he’s a smooth character.”

Harrison said that playing basketball at San Quentin has changed his perspective. He describes the Kings basketball team as being a “brotherhood” and the court as one of the only places in prison where race doesn’t matter.

“Basketball is a culture,” Harrison said. “When you see someone playing, there is an instant connection. No matter where we are or where we come from, we are speaking the same language.”

Seeing volunteers and outside teams come into the prison has changed Harrison, too. After games, opposing players share their testimonies with everyone circled around half-court. Harrison is always surprised with how non-judgmental and supportive they are.

All of this has solidified Harrison’s drive to get out of prison and use basket- ball as a tool to help young people, who may be experiencing similar challenges to those he went through. His plan is to open up a barber- shop and become a teacher on African culture, but the lessons of support and love he has learned from basketball form the backbone of his aspiration.

Harrison said he truly believes that if he’d had a mentor at 16, to not only teach him the game but also give him guidance off of the court, would have kept him out of trouble.

Harrison believes in God and that everything happens for a reason. The next step is to take all of these lessons back to the community which was formative for him in establishing his identity.

Daniel Barfield spent nine years in solitary confinment

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During his 20 years of incarceration at Georgia’s Diagnostic and Classification Prison, Daniel Barfield spent nine years in the solitary unit, according to The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

“I’ve seen people go crazy,” Barfield said regarding his stay in isolation, adding, “I’ve heard people go crazy. Just out of the blue a person will flip and act out all kind of different ways, saying they’re going to kill themelves.”

Barfield was sent to prison in 1988. He was 13 years old when he was accused by a relative of molesting her 3-year old daughter, according to the article.

Per Georgia penal code, “a person convicted of their first offense of child molestation shall be punished by imprisonment for ‘not less than five years, nor more than 20 years.’”

“Me being illiterate and dumb, I said I’d take that,” Barfield said of the five year plea bargain he accepted. Adding, “My family didn’t know anything about the law at the time so we listened to the lawyer.”

He adamantly denies the allegations and said, “It was my word against hers.”

Instead of being tried in a juvenile court, Barfield was tried as an adult, a decision that may have been made based on his other petty crimes. “I used to steal my parent’s car,” said Barfield. “I was probably doing it to get attention.” Barfield told the Journal-Constitution.

When he turned 17, he was transferred from the juvenile facility he was housed to an adult facility. He then found himself housed at Alto Prison, where most of the prisoners were under 25 years of age.

“It’s just an awful place,” said Sara Geraghty, attorney for the Southern Center for Human Rights in Atlanta, Ga. “The sexual violence that occurred there was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Rapes were happening on a daily basis.”

“A lot of times I’d get so mad that I was there because I knew I was innocent,” Barfield said on his stay at Alto prison. “That built a lot of anger in me. As I got older I tried to develop myself as a man, to get ready for my family, to not be the angry person I was in prison. Mentally it was real rough.”

While struggling to find peace of mind, Barfield, a White boy from South Georgia, found solace in Islam. The religion gave Barfield the peace he sought, accord- ing to the article.

“That helped me a lot with my anger and my temper, ‘cause I calmed down and became a man,” Barfield said of his conversion to Islam.

This new peace and religion created problems that led to him being placed in solitary.

“The officer said ‘I don’t know why you White boys are always taking the fall for the Muslims,’” recalled Barfield.

This statement led to an altercation in which Barfield was sent to “the hole” (Administrative Segregation)

and was then transferred to Jackson special management unit E-wing. In this unit inmates are allowed outside of their cell for one hour per day. Inmates are not given any personal effects. They only receive sheets, blankets and hygiene items, like a toothbrush. There’s no library access, TV, or radio for personal entertainment, according to the article.

Barfield’s faith is what kept him strong during his nine-year stay in this form of isolation.

“There’s no way, based on his infraction, that Daniel should’ve been there for nine years,” said Geraghty, who was part of a team that sued the Georgia Department of Corrections over conditions inside the solitary unit.

Barfield’s situation is not a singular instance. More that 20 percent of the inmates placed in solitary have been retained in the special management unit for more than six years. However, as a result of the lawsuit filed by the Southern Center for Human Rights, the department has reduced its restrictive housing by 40 percent, according to the article.

Now released at 33 years of age, Barfield’s transition back to society has proven difficult. Finding employment as a known sex offender has been difficult.

“Being around people is the biggest adjustment,” he said, adding, “I just have to learn to deal with it. It might take me awhile, but I’ll get used to it.”

Barfield has found a girl-friend via Facebook, and they have hopes of one day getting married.

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