Advocate for the Convicted Felon

© 2013 by Wise. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/24/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-6596-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-6594-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-6595-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013911013

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CONTENTS

Part I: The Making Of A Felon

Chapter I: The Park Across The Street

Chapter II: Raised By The System

Chapter III: New York State Department Of Corrections

Part II: Putting It All Together

PART I

THE MAKING OF A FELON

CHAPTER I

THE PARK ACROSS THE STREET

107 Guy R. Brewer Blvd was the neighborhood I grew up in. It was an all-black neighborhood. There were a lot of shootings over drugs, but there wasn’t too much gang violence in those days. My brother and I had to fight almost every day. We lived across the street from a basketball court. The older dudes use to play ball for money. There was always a fight of some sought on that court. Besides the little squabbles over a basketball game or shoot outs between the drug dealers and outsiders, it seemed like my brother and I was always involved with the fights among the younger bunch in the neighborhood. We went to P.S. 40 Elementary School. The school was by 40 projects. The projects were where most of my neighborhoods beef was coming from. Dudes from the projects would come and rob the dealers that stood on the corner. The next thing you know you heard gun shots later on that night. One day as I was walking from the store, I overheard this dude that was working for one of the big time dudes in my neighborhood named Sean, that someone from the projects had robbed him for the drugs he had. When I was around seven years old my grandmother use to make my cousins and I walk to school together. It was a journey to walk from my neighborhood to school. Along the way we would bump into other children who would start fights with us. There was a dude named Troy who use to be the main one that started fights with us, me especially. Troy lived down the street from me. He lived with his grandmother. He was around nine years old which was about two years older than me. These were the years when crack was heavy in New York. It was the year 1986. This is the era of the crack epidemic. Troy was liked by the older dudes in the neighborhood and they use to get him to fight dudes around my age. He hung with about two other children that use to help him jump me. One dude called himself stinka. I taught him a lesson when I caught him in his backyard by himself. I hopped the fence and commenced a whopping on him. His mother was yelling out the window for me to get off of him. At first it was just my brother and I that had to face these obstacles while walking to school, but then my cousin Darren moved with us and walked to school with us. He didn’t do much to help us. I had to fight these dudes by myself at times when my brother was not with me.

P.S.40 was an all-black elementary school with an all-black staff. Dr. Coash was the principal. He reminded me of the principal from the movie Lean On Me. We use to have a ceremony in the auditorium at times and we use to sing the school anthem. It went: Huntington Prep is a clean, quiet school where learning takes place. If I respect myself, I respect others. What I do and say reflects on my family. Dr. Coash took pride in making sure that the students understood black history. Every year we had an awards ceremony in the auditorium. We sung the black national anthem. Ms. Clover taught a class on black history. She used to have pictures of Akhenaton and Nefertiti on the wall. She taught us about Kwanzaa and even had us singing a song so we can remember each principal. She would sing: Umoja means unity, Kujichaculia means self-determination, Ujima means collective work and responsibility, Ujamaa means cooperative economics, Nia means purpose, Kuumba means creativity, Imani means faith. We would have to repeat that every time she sung it. She made sure we understood history. She would tell us about how Egypt and Ethiopia were the two super powers of the world and how these two countries paved the way to other cultures all over the world. She could also be mean when a student was disruptive. I remember on numerous occasions where she slapped my hand with a hard wood rule. Boy did that hurt.

Ms. Ferguson was my 3rd grade teacher. I had a crush on her because she was so beautiful physically. She was about 5'9 light skinned. She looked like Vanessa Williams a little bit. I say physically attractive because her attitude was ugly. You would think that a teacher would be more mature and conduct themselves more appropriately, but she use to tease some of the children in class just as bad as the kids. She teased me so bad one day that I wet my pants because she told me I couldn’t go to the bathroom. I was very disappointed in her behavior. My crush quickly faded and I began to show resent towards her. After that incident I purposely was not paying attention to her lectures. I either fell asleep or was drawing in my notebook. I did not even bother to do the homework she assigned the class to do. This went on for a couple of weeks. The strange part was it seemed like she did not care. Well it seemed like she did not, but I found out while getting slapped around by the security guard that she did not take me ignoring her lightly. The security guard was a black dude who was about 5'8, 180lbs. I did not know his name, but I remember he always looked mad as if he did not like kids. I was seven years old when he took me in the boys bathroom and proceeded to slap me with full force. I was confused as to the reason for this abuse on a minor. He revealed that I need to ‘show respect for those that teach you" I was not the wisest person at seven, but when I got to Ms. Fergusons class that following day, I noticed the way she keep observing me to see if that little beaten had gotten my attention.

My classmates were mean as hell. Growing up in my household there was not too much attention paid to my hygiene. Therefore, I went to school with a bad odor. I took baths from time to time, but I was not informed on the importance of daily baths were. My classmates teased me on a daily basis. It was not so much because of my odor, but more because of the clothes I wore as well. My grandmother was poor and could not afford to get my brother and I the latest fashions of that time. Other children came to school wearing the new Bo-Jacksons with the 34 on the back. Troy from my neighborhood had the grey and black ones. Those shoes cost about sixty dollars. My Grandparents were old fashion, so they felt there wasn’t a need for us to wear such expensive shoes. Instead we went to school in the Reebok classics which was a hot brand at the time, but it was still like wearing pro-keds. We had to wear Spiderman and Superman shoes. We had to wear these shoes until there were holes in them before we got new ones and exchange clothes so that we didn’t wear the same clothes every day. My grandmother took us clothes shopping like once a year it seemed like. My brother was heavier than me, so his clothes did not fit me. I was always into fights because of the teasing. This dude named Michael Miller was sitting next to me in my social studies class and keep on saying how funky I smelled. I finally got tired of it and punched him in the face. We were tussling on the floor until the teacher came and broke it up. I was suspended for five days. One day while I was on suspension I went up towards the school to play in the park. Michael’s mother approached me and asked me was I the one who had a fight with her son. When I acknowledged that I was she tried to grab me. I ran from her, but she did not chase me. There was another incident with a girl named Elizabeth. She talks bad about my mother. I was told at an early age that my mother had passed away. I don’t remember too much about her. I just recall one time when my father took me to see her in the Bronx. She had me on one of those high chair potties. I was told she died from anorexia. I spoke to my mother’s sister on the phone years later. I was supposed to go to live with her, but no one sent me to her. From my understanding I have two other brothers and a sister. My sister came by to take my brother to the park once in a while. I remember speaking to her on the phone while I was in my crib. Anyway, later that week Elizabeth and another girl named Nana had jumped me in the school park. Elizabeth was trying to hold me while Nana scratched my face. They did some damage. I had about eight scratches on my face. My grandmother took me to the hospital to clean it up and to check for infections. Of course I went to school the