This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

Medium security just meant that there were less restrictions and more programming available. The officers still treated people like s***, but for the most part I found my own way and didn’t have any issues. It was much better than Menard. I was able to stay out of the way and do my own thing. If a person could do that and have respect for the people around them then they were good.

I was able to take advantage of the programs within the first few months. I enrolled in an Associate’s degree program through Lakeland College. The study was in Liberal Arts. Unfortunately, I think I spent more time in my cell than I did in class. The school had trouble keeping a Dean on staff. It seemed like no one wanted to work in the prison. It was understandable though. The culture embraced by the prison staff wasn’t very pro-education or rehabilitation when it came to us. It felt like the officers hated the fact that we were being offered an opportunity to earn a degree. In their minds, we were there to simply sit in our cells and do our time. Anything more than that was a waste of time and money.

Being at Western was the beginning of a new chapter for me. I’d put Menard in my rear view and was on my way towards earning my degree. It was refreshing. It was also the beginning of a new chapter for Dallis and I. Married life was good. It was smooth. I really just kept doing the things I was good at, which was being myself. Dallis and I spent some time on visits as usual and as we were getting used to the change, we began to focus on our future. Specifically, the potential timeline for my freedom and us starting a family.

My appeal had slowed down drastically. The Illinois Supreme Court was still reviewing my case and there was no time limit on when the court had to make a ruling. The idea was that my freedom would come in the near future if they’re ruling was in my favor. Then we would be able to start a family right away. That didn’t seem to be realistic though.

We were both ready to start a family. I had been noticing for a while that Dallis had a strong case of baby fever. I noted it in visits when there were babies or young kids around. She’d also told me several times how bad she wanted to have a “little Dre” running around the house. To be able to start our own little family. I remember it all. I wanted the same thing. I spent a lot of time daydreaming about what it would be like for Dallis being a Mom and how much I would enjoy seeing it. I wanted to give that to her. I also day dreamed about what it would be like to be a Dad. Anyone who was close to me prior to me getting locked up knew how much I love kids. I had - still do - a very special bond with my younger sister and my two nephews. All of them were about 6 months old or younger when I was taken away.

I wanted nothing more than to be a Dad. If someone would have asked me at 15 years old I would have told him I was ready. This was a bit different though. The idea of starting a family with Dallis was precious. To share our life together was one thing. To share the life of a child together was on another level. It was something I had thought about on a regular basis.

Dallis and I spent a lot of time talking about starting a family and what that would look like. We basically had two options: we could wait and see how my legal situation played out, or we could try to start a family immediately using the IVF process.

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‘By June, the month before our wedding date we had everything all lined up. Dallis had a place to live here in the States. She quit her job in Canada, and she had a beautiful gown. We were all set. Then I f***** it all up’

This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

I admired Dallis. I was also inspired by her and just having her in my life made me want to be the best version of myself, not just for me, but for her as well. I wanted to impress her. Like I said, I had started developing an emotional attachment to her, but I was also really stimulated and attracted to her. My feelings grew stronger as time went on.

Honestly, I was just enjoying her presence in my life. I felt like we had a special bond at that point. She was definitely special to me. I didn’t know how she felt about me exactly, but I could tell that she genuinely cared about me. In a sense I felt like she was truly invested in me and our friendship. She was - still is - always so consistent and just there. I valued that. It was refreshing.

I never imagined that Dallis and I would cross the line between friendship and romance. I mean, I imagined it, but I didn’t really believe it would ever happen. It was purely fantasy. For one, she made it clear in the past that she had no interest in crossing any lines in a romance. I didn’t want to offend her or cross any boundaries, so I was careful of that for a long time.

For two, I kind of felt like she was out of my league. I’m a confident dude. I can be a little shy and self-conscious at times when it comes to women who I am attracted to though. It’s hit or miss. Dallis to me seemed like she was definitely on another level though. I had never tried to flirt with or date a woman of her caliber. I hadn’t had the opportunity or exposure to interact on a social level with women who were educated, sophisticated, professional, and came from a different background, as she had been. On top of all that, she was 9 years older than me. I loved that - still do - by the way. It made me even more attracted to her because she was mature and didn’t play games. She had experience in life and she had her s*** together. Initially, I had told myself that I would just go with the flow and enjoy having her in my life in any way that she allowed. I tried that. It wasn’t enough. I felt like I needed to be honest and let the chips fall where they may. That’s exactly what I did.

I think I responded to one of her letters like everything was normal, and towards the end of that letter I sort of transitioned into how I’ve been feeling. I can’t remember exactly what I said. I do remember telling her that over the past couple of years I had grown to care about her deeply, and recently I had begun to love her. I told her that I hope she didn’t feel uncomfortable. That I wasn’t expecting her to respond in any sort of way, and that I just hoped we could continue to be friends. I just wanted her to know how I felt about her instead of hiding it. I would have been good just being friends, so long as she knew the truth. I had to wait for her to get my letter, then wait for her response to make it back to me.

She wrote back and told me that she felt the same way as I did. She didn’t say that exactly, but it was a nice letter letting me know that she had been fighting her feelings for me for a while and how she didn’t know if she should tell me or not. She wasn’t sure if she should cross that line with me, but if she did, she would be committed to me 100% through thick and thin. She understood that I had a 61-year sentence and my freedom was nowhere near guaranteed. She considered this before responding to me. She told me that she would never allow me to spend the rest of my life in prison alone.

When other people say things like that it sounds cliche. When Dallis said it to me I knew she meant it.

It’s unreal man.

I can’t lie, when I read that letter I was shocked. I didn’t expect it. I thought she was going to accept how I felt while letting me know that we could never be more than friends. I couldn’t believe it. It was probably the happiest moment in my life at that time. The potential of us was a new bright light in my life. I decided that I wouldn’t do anything different. I would just continue to be myself, not trying to impress her by being someone that wasn’t authentic. She loved me for who I am and it took away any pressure I may have felt with someone else.

In the years that followed we made some great memories. Our relationships still centered on writing letters back and forth, but I also began calling regularly. and of course we would eventually gain access to e-messages, which were a game changer. We also spent a lot of time on visits, as Dallis would fly in from Canada to visit me, usually for several days at a time.

The first time she came to visit me was a big deal. It was my first one. I hand washed my clothes and put them under my mattress laying on them for 2 weeks so they would be crispy. Back then creases in your shirt and pants were still in style. Also, I didn’t have access to an iron.

Luckily I had a barber on location. I was able to get my hair cut the day of my visit. My guy had to reach his arms through the bars of his cell. He got me together with a pair of beard trimmers! It’s amazing how we make the most out of the limited resources that we have.

So yeah, I was sitting in the visiting room nervous as hell. The visit had come pretty quickly after we crossed that line between friendship and romance. I didn’t have anything but maybe two pictures of Dallis at that time, and I had no idea how she looked in person. I was sitting there at our table watching as visitors came in not even knowing if Dallis was one of them.

At some point she walked right past me and I didn’t even know it. She was the only person standing at the officer’s desk being checked in. Her back was to me so I couldn’t tell if it was her. She had on a sundress with a mini denim jacket. I’ll never forget that dress, or the look on her face when she turned around and made eye contact with me.

The visit was super smooth. I was a little nervous but I got comfortable real quick. She also seemed nervous at times, which made me feel good. We spent 4 hours just vibing. The conversation flowed naturally. At some point I put my head down looking at the table for a couple of seconds. When I looked up she was staring at me with a look in her eyes that made my brain freeze. In that moment I knew that I was special to her. We were building something rare and unique.

We would spend a lot of time on visits over the years. Being on visits with Dallis was like medicine for my soul. I needed to get away from all of the stress and drama inside of Menard. It was a temporary escape from all of the b*******. Nothing else mattered when we were together on a visit. All of my stress and anxiety disappeared, if only for 4 to 8 hours. Visits were normally 4 hours but because Dallis was coming from Canada, she was allowed an extended visit up to 8 hours.

As fun as the visits were, saying goodbye on the final days was extremely hard. Dallis would cry in my arms as the officer was waiting to escort her out. It used to break my heart, man. I can’t lie. That s*** hurt my soul. Leaving and going back to my cell was hard. It usually took a couple of days to adjust to being back in the mix of things. I hated it but I used my feelings as fuel to keep me focused on getting out of prison.

My appeal had been moving along. I realized pretty quickly that I was in good hands. The attorney who was appointed to my case, Jamie L Montgomery, was amazing and easy to work with. She is an expert in her field and I got lucky having her represent me on my first appeal. She added to the hope that I needed to keep moving forward.

Dallis and her family, especially her parents, kept up with my legal stuff and were also hopeful. Yes, I was in good with her parents. They were also a part of ‘the one’ and we’d also built a great relationship. Eventually, Dallis and I had told them about our relationship. They were definitely surprised, but supportive. To this day they have loved and supported me as their son. We’ve spent a lot of time hanging out at visits as well. This Memoir would not be possible if it wasn’t for my incredible mother-in-law who is helping me publish and promote it. This is just one of the many things she has done to support me! She believes in me and would do anything to see me succeed. We were all hopefully optimistic about my first appeal. All of the briefs have been filed. We were just waiting for the Appellate Court to make their ruling. There was no set date for their ruling. It would come on a random day. I just had to wait and get a copy of their ruling in the mail.

I received the ruling. It was 22 pages long. I didn’t have to read it all to know the conclusion. The first sentence of the ruling told me that my appeal had been denied. That my trial was fair, and that my mandatory prosecution in adult court was not unconstitutional. That all of my hope and faith over the previous 3 years had been for nothing. Getting that first denial was faith-shattering for me. It completely changed the way that I viewed faith and the criminal justice system. I was no longer naive. I knew that having faith in a positive outcome wasn’t healthy. I needed a lot more than faith. I needed a solid strategy in action. The threat of spending the rest of my life in prison was more real than it had ever been. I put all of my hopes in that initial appeal only to see it denied. I had spent three years daydreaming about the day I would have one and my conviction would have been overturned. I didn’t even know what the next steps were because I couldn’t see that far ahead before I’d gotten their ruling. I couldn’t entertain the thought of losing and had to focus on the next step in the appeal process. Yet, there it was.

Losing the appeal was hard for me, but I was more concerned with how it would affect Dallis. I knew it was going to be hard for her. It was. She took it hard, but she bounced back quicker than I did. Her response was basically asking me what the next steps were and how she could help. Her hope and confidence allowed me to recover quickly. I was able to appeal the denial by the appellate court. Basically an appeal is simply an opportunity for you to have a higher court review decisions made by the previous court. So, for me, I had to ask the Illinois Supreme Court to review the appellate court’s ruling. It was my hope that they would overturn their ruling and allow me to have a new trial. Their decision would take several years to come. In the meantime, Dallis and I lean into each other. I handled the legal stuff with my attorney so she didn’t have to stress about it, and she was able to just focus on us. We made the most of each year while we waited on a ruling from the Supreme Court. It wasn’t always easy either. The distance between us was hard for both of us, but especially so for Dallis. She wanted me home. Some days I didn’t understand how she was able to keep going with me. The waiting and uncertainty was taking its toll. Nonetheless, she never gave up on me. She kept coming to visit about every 2 months or so and we just took things one day at a time. By 2016, I knew that Dallis was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. When you meet a woman like Dallis, you just know. You also know that you would be the world’s biggest fool not to propose to her. So, that’s what I did.

I knew how she felt about me. I also knew that she low-key wanted me to propose. The topic of marriage had come up briefly at one point.

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Things were beginning to turn around for me pretty quickly once I moved out of the west house. It was beyond refreshing. It was like being in a completely different prison. The prisoners were different, and even some of them were off some of the officers were different. Even the toilets were different. The West house had steel sinks and toilets. The other building had porcelain. The yard schedule was much better too. I went from getting one or two yards a week - if we weren’t on lockdown - to three to five a week.

It was still prison, and there were still things that I hated. It was still Menard. Nonetheless, it was so much better. There was a different vibe. All of the G********** and drama wasn’t a problem anymore. I mean, gangs existed in every part of the prison. It was well organized, but it wasn’t as prevalent. It was a different crowd. Most of the men in the South house were strictly focused on three things. Going to school and trying to better themselves, focusing on their cases and trying to earn the freedom back and working job assignments so that they can fill the days and pass the time while not being locked in the cell. There wasn’t much room for drama. It was an older crowd, with me being the youngest by far. I had to be about 18 or 19 years old. Everyone was shocked that I was allowed to leave the West house. Everyone else was at least 35 or older. The average was probably about 38 to 40 years old. It was perfect for me. I couldn’t stand being around the younger population. Many - not all of them - were immature and didn’t have their heads on straight yet, a lot of them were going down different paths than what I was focused on.

I was enrolled into the GED class immediately. I had class 5 days a week, so I wasn’t stuck in the cell 23 and a half hours a day anymore. I was exposed to a lot of other opportunities just by being in that positive environment. Things like being able to meet new people, including the program counselors. This allowed me to get enrolled in other programs as well. It was great for me. I needed to be in a positive uplifting environment and encouraged a sort of growth mindset.

Being in the GED class gave me that. I was able to feed my brain as it was still developing. I loved - still do - being a student and learning. I neglected school when I was out, mainly because I was bored with it all because I was so stimulated and attached to my life in the streets. well at Menard I wanted to change my mindset and rewire my brain so that I would be curious about all things and have a thirst for knowledge. That’s what I did. I made the most of my time in class. I had wasted so much time in the West house sitting around doing nothing. Doing the same thing every single day, which was watching TV and daydreaming. Of course, I worked on my case, but aside from that I just wasted my mind away with TV.

Being in school opened my mind and I could feel the effects. I am so grateful that I was given that opportunity. Not only did it offer me an opportunity to grow personally with my education, it opened doors for me to meet the right people and get a job and access to a lot of other things that made my time easier. Mainly being able to network and build connections with people.

One of the most important things I learned from my experiences in Menard is that so many things in life are political. You really have to have the courage to self advocate for yourself when the opportunities present themselves. It’s not always about what you know, but who you know is very important, and it’s not just about knowing the right people. You have to be able to build genuine relationships with all sorts of people. You have to show gratitude when someone gives you a helping hand, and you also have to pay it forward by being of value to them as well. Also, you must pay it forward by lending a helping hand to someone else who may need support. There was more balance in my life. I had a sense of peace. Not entirely, I still had trouble sleeping. That wouldn’t change until there was a final resolution with my case. However, I was in a super chill environment around some good guys, many of which gave me guidance and wisdom. I wasn’t trapped in that cell all day, and most of my days were productive and stimulating because of school and ultimately different job assignments. I wasn’t worried about missing the commissary anymore because my bro Cornell made sure I was good. Let me say a little something about bro real quick.

First, I have to say that he is cut from a cloth that is very, very rare. He is one of the most selfless, caring, loyal, trustworthy, and righteous people I’ve ever met. It’s a short list. He’s my right hand man. The two of us grew up together on the south side of Waukegan and built a solid foundation for friendship that has turned into me loving him as my family. My brother. Not only did he help me make commissary every month, he made sure there was money on his phone account so I could be connected to life outside of prison. He would later help pay for my lawyers as well. He is a special human being. He hasn’t missed a beat, not for a single day. His support has been vital for my survival and peace of mind. Not having financial and social support in a place like Menard is the second worst experience I’ve ever had in my life. It was humbling and it made me value material things differently. I can’t express enough of the gratitude I have toward him and a couple of others, especially my wife Dallis for the financial support over the years. So yeah, shout out to Cornell!

The only thing I was missing in my life - besides my freedom - was the chance to connect with a woman. I’m not even talking about a relationship or anything like that. There were plenty of female friends in my life before I was convicted and sentenced to 61 years in prison. After I was sentenced almost all of them ghosted me. It was quick too. There were a couple who tried to hang in there, but Menard was the final straw for them. There weren’t any messages or phones on tablets back then. We had to rely on mail and The Limited phone access. it would take 2 to 3 weeks to receive a letter because the mail room staff were either overwhelmed or incompetent.

As for visits, most of us were from the Northern parts of the state. Plus, Menard had a special way of discouraging visitors from making the trip. It was risky. The prison would go on lockdown so much and at any moment. All visits were restricted once we went on lockdown for at least 72 hours. If it wasn’t to lockdown, visitors had to worry about the officers finding a reason not to let them in. They were notorious for that. So if my sentence didn’t sever the relationships that I had, Menard’s influence did.

Not having a connection with a woman for an extended period of time does something to your soul, for real. Nothing feeds a man’s soul like a woman’s feminine presence. Being able to do the simple things like hold a conversation over the phone and build a bond, or being able to hear her laugh - at something you said. Just knowing that there was someone out there who cared about you and you could write or call, knowing they are looking forward to it. Man, don’t even get me started on not being able to spend time

with a woman in person. to be able to hold them in your arms and smell their perfume. Or to be able to look them in the eyes while you’re holding conversation. Come on man. I daydreamed about these things everyday, hoping and looking forward to the day that I would get out of prison so I could have this connection again.

I pretty much gave up on finding love while in prison. In my mind it wasn’t possible because it was too hard and too much of a sacrifice for a woman to be in a deep relationship with a man in prison who has no guarantee of ever coming home again. In my mind that was completely understandable. I’ve seen men in Menard who had women in their lives. They had wives who held it down. They seemed to have found their rare roses. I never thought that was possible for me though. Then, Dallis came into my life out of nowhere.

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‘The ride to Menard felt like the longest ride of my life. Actually, at that time, it was the longest ride of my life by far. Every hour I hoped that we were almost there. Every time we left the highway and drove through a small town I thought we were about to pull up at any moment. I was disappointed every time. It wasn't until I noticed that our speed started to decelerate and stayed that way for a full minute or two, I knew we were in town and I would be pulling up at any moment. I was right.’

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We were lined up against the wall on the unit waiting for the officer to assign each of us a cell to go into. A guy in line with me was called and told to go to a certain cell. Immediately, there were several men from the other cells shouting at the new guy telling him not to go into that cell. They were telling him that his would be celly was a sexual predator. The previous guy who lived there had to move out of there.

Now, whether the guy in that cell was actually a sexual predator or not, I don’t know. However, I’ll say two things. The fact is that those men seemed very concerned and serious as they were trying to warn the new guy. Second, sexual predators do exist in prisons. Some of them earn the title for the crimes that landed them in prison. Some earned the title from crimes they committed while in prison. Anyway, the new guy who was about the same size as me - 5 foot 7” 140 lb wisely refused to go in the cell with that guy. The officer actually tried to force him to go into the cell. It blew my mind. Ultimately, he was reassigned to another cell or he may have been taken to segregation for “refusing housing”.

As I walked past the potential predator’s cell heading toward my own, I glanced inside. The man was much taller and heavier than the new guy they were about to put in the cell with him. They should not have been assigned to live with each other. He also appeared to have some mental health issues going on. He was standing in the middle of the cell with his shirt off. Come on man.

Seeing this made me angry. I was angry because I started to believe that the accusations against the guy may have been true. I was also angry because the officers knew better or they should have known. Nobody should be put in a situation like that. if the accusations against that man were true, the new guy could have been easily been the victim of a violent rape, probably repeatedly. or he could potentially be charged with murder as a result of that guy’s attempts.

As I was heading to my cell, I was no longer tired or exhausted. My adrenaline was through the roof and I was in fight / survival mode. My introduction to prison was a guy having to avoid going into a cell with a potential sexual predator.

I just knew that I was going to get a f***** up celly. I wanted to make sure there were no misunderstandings between us in case he wasn’t interested in compatibility. I stepped up to the cell with my face all twisted up as I waited for the door to open. There was a window to the cell but I couldn’t see inside because the lights had been out. My celly didn’t know I was coming. Once the officer opened the door and the light came on, my celly was sitting on his bunk looking up at me. He was in his sixties. I was 17 and he was in his mid-60s. I relaxed immediately. I felt relieved. I could tell right away that he was a smooth guy.

Introducing myself to him didn’t feel awkward. It didn’t feel forced like it had every other time I had to go into a cell with a stranger. After getting settled in I was back to being exhausted. I wanted to fade out but force myself to stay up and kick it with my celly. I wanted to set a solid foundation moving forward for our time together in that cell.

I laid on my back looking up at the ceiling. My celly was on a roll telling me a bunch of stories from his past. He was a funny dude. for real. Like he wasn’t necessarily trying to be, he just had that natural effortless sense of humor. He had good vibes and a sense of ease about him. The only thing I didn’t like was that he passed gas a lot. There were no windows and the ventilation was horrible. I felt like we were hot boxing farts in that cell!

We spent the rest of the night laughing and getting to know each other. I remember listening to him talk and then there was silence and I heard him snoring. I couldn’t do anything but laugh, roll over and fade out. It was the first time I’ve slept through the night in 6 months.

My celly and I would ultimately spend about 2 weeks together before we were both transferred. He left a couple of days before I did. He was a good dude, and I was grateful that I had a celly who was so smooth. NRC was a horrible place. Having a good celly really made the experience easier for me.

The day I was transferred, the officer showed up to my cell at 11:30 p.m. or so. She told me that I was on transfer and that I’d be leaving at 5:00 a.m. I asked her where I would be going. She told me I was going to Menard Correctional Center. The place that I had repeatedly referred to as Gladiator School. Menard was notorious for its history of violence and oppression experienced by its prison population. I knew that I’d only had two options: Stateville’s maximum security prison, or Menard. Both are very similar. Stateville is in Joliet, Illinois and run by a majority of Black and Hispanic people if I had to guess. Menard is 7 hours away located in a small rural town and in 2012 there weren’t many Black people working there. I could count on one hand how many Black officers or civilian stuff I saw while I was there. There were no Hispanic employees that I could remember.

The news about my transfer to Menard didn’t bother me at all. Honestly, I was just happy to be leaving NRC. I laid there for the rest of the morning ready to leave, wondering what was waiting for me.

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The day that I was transferred from the county jail to Stateville Northern reception classification NRC prison, it was 5:00 a.m. when the officer came to let me know that I was leaving. I was laying there going through my usual routine of trying to sleep. My celly woke up and we shook hands, wishing each other well on our new journeys.

The processing out of the jail was much quicker than it was getting booked in. By 6:30 a.m. we were on the road. I was happy to be leaving. Being in the jail was suffocating being so close to home and being surrounded by people who are going to be home regularly, while I had a fresh 61-year sentence was very hard for me. Leaving there felt like progress. A step in the right direction.

I had heard a lot about the Stateville Northern reception/classification unit NRC. None of it had been good. I heard that the place was filthy and infested with mice. That you were locked in the cell for 24 hours a day, with the exception of two showers a week, as well as 4 hours of recreation a week. I was told that the food was bad, and the portions were meant for children. In my mind, I had thought that these guys were just being dramatic and over exaggerating. That’s not uncommon in jails or prisons. It’s very common actually. But yeah, I would soon realize that all of the rumors were in fact true. Stateville NRC was as legendary as I’d heard.

When we got there we weren’t allowed in right away. There was already a line of other vehicles from other County jails who were there to drop off men who had been sentenced to IDOC. It was a very slow process. If I had to guess. I’d say we sat there for at least 2 hours just waiting to get into the building.

Stateville NRC is essentially a prison that initially houses anyone in the northern part of the state who has been sentenced to IDOC. It’s a temporary holding facility. a person is processed in and held while the powers that be classify the individual to determine which prison across the state would be the best fit for that person. Once their assignment is done, they are transferred to another prison where they essentially serve their sentence. The process could take anywhere from two weeks to several months. It is nothing short of warehousing.

Once I finally made it inside I understood why it took so long. There were at least a couple hundred people already there. The room looked like a big warehouse that had about three to four bullpens. Each had several rows of concrete benches that could probably hold about 150 people each. All of the bullpens were filled before the afternoon ended. Just looking at all of the men there gave me the feeling that it was going to be a very long day. It was indeed a long and exhausting day of being processed. It started with the guaranteed strip search that feels like the first time, every time. It is so uncomfortable, but by that point I learned to become stoic during the process. I kept my head up and looked directly into the officer’s eyes, giving him the impression that I was unfazed by the sick process. After the strip search I had to take a quick, cold shower with several other men. A new first for me, at least at that point. I didn’t expect that. However, the shower was so quick that I barely had time to feel uncomfortable. We were in and out in less than 5 minutes. It was essentially a rinse off.

After showering and getting dressed, we moved to the next process in the circuit. I had my fingerprints and photos taken. After that I was sent to see a dentist who didn’t do anything except take an x-ray of my teeth before pointing me in the direction of the nurse’s station. After getting my blood drawn and my blood pressure taken, I was again given the finger, pointing me in the direction of my next stop. That’s how things went until I was done speaking with the mental health professionals, Correctional counsellors, and a few other people I can’t remember. The whole process took about an hour.

We arrived at Stateville NRC at about 8:30 a.m. I didn’t make it to my cell until at least 6:00 or 7:00 p.m. I spent most of that time sitting in the bullpen on that concrete bench, waiting for everyone to finish. By the time my name was called my whole body was aching.

I had spent a lot of my time in the bullpen studying the men around me. There were men from all over the place from all walks of life. I was wondering which one of them was going to be my celly. I couldn’t stand the thought of being trapped in the cell with some of them. I silently prayed for a good, compatible celly I could vibe with.

I can’t stress enough how vital it can be to have a celly that is compatible. It is important for your mental and physical health. being put into a cell with the wrong person could potentially become dangerous or even deadly. Especially in a place like Stateville NRC. Each unit could hold up to about 200 plus people, I believe. So once your cell door is shut, for the most part you are on your own. You can call for the officer if you have an emergency, but it is very likely your calls will go unanswered if they can even hear you behind the steel door.

I’ll never forget the moment where a guy who was “on the new” - like me - was able to avoid going into a cell with a potential sexual predator.

Thanks for reading! Getting the word out about my memoir takes people like you. It would mean the world to me if you would consider sharing it with someone you think may be interested in reading it too. With gratitude, Dre.

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During the day I spent most of the time by myself. I had a select few guys who I kicked it with, but for the most part, I was in my own world.

I tried to spend as much time as I could with my family. Back then we were allowed one non-contact visit each week. It was in a booth, through a thick glass. It was tough for my family, man. so tough that I almost spared them the suffering by telling them not to come. I didn’t do it because I needed time with them. especially my younger sister and my nephews who were about two and a half years old each. I knew that once I went to prison I may not be able to see them if I ended up in Menard Correctional center. It was 8 hours from home. I knew I only had two options. Statesville Correctional Center or Menard. I wanted to make the most of our time just in case I was sent far away.

I’m glad that I did. I haven’t had a visit with my mom or my older sister and nephews since that visit in the county jail, 13 years ago. The last time I hugged them was during a visit at the Juvenile Detention Center 13 years ago as well while waiting for my sentencing hearing. I also spent a lot of the time visiting with Kevin and Eric. Much of it was preparing for my motion for a new trial, which is a motion that argues that I should receive a new trial based on errors that happen before or during my trial that deemed the whole process unfair. It was just another part of the trial process if you were convicted. It was a proforma. Kevin and Eric let me know that the motion would certainly be denied and we would go straight to sentencing. The importance of the motion was to preserve any potential issues for my appeal.

I asked Kevin and Eric if they would be willing to represent me on my appeal. They said they would have been happy to but couldn’t. They wanted me to have the best chance at success. They told me that ineffective assistance of trial counsel would potentially be my best chance of winning, and if they represented me I would not be able to raise any errors that they made. Then they told me to raise any and every issue that I could find where they made a mistake. This is probably rare. I doubt that any attorney likes being accused of making mistakes. Many would likely defend their conduct, ultimately making it harder for their former clients to get relief.

Aside from the meetings regarding my motion for a new trial and sentencing, there were several visits between Kevin and I. He would come through regularly to check on me. A lot of times I would send him a quick note and he would pop up. I leaned on him to help me get through that 6 months.

Everyone else has slowly begun to ghost me after I was convicted. Except my family - at that point - and a close friend of mine who hadn’t missed a single day. He is actually more than a friend. He is family. I love him like my brother. He has earned that.

By the time my sentencing hearing rolled around in October 2012, I was ready to get on with it. I was already looking past it, focusing on what was to come after. The months leading up to that point were HARD and filled with stress, anxiety, and sleepless nights. It was also depressing being around so many people who were going home on a regular basis, or fighting petty charges. I needed to know my fate so I didn’t have to think about it. So I could begin the fight for the rest of my life.

As Kevin and Eric had warned me, my motion for a new trial was denied. It really didn’t matter what issues I presented in that motion. There was zero chance that my judge was going to overturn my conviction. so, once he denied my motion it was time to get into the real reason we were there.

I could be wrong but I believe the prosecutor had asked my judge to sentence me to 90 years in prison. I’m not even sure how he came up with that number. My mandatory minimum sentence was 51 years. At least 20 years for the murder conviction. 20 was the minimum for that offense. I also faced a minimum of 6 years for aggravated battery with firearm offense. On top of those, I was also going to receive a mandatory 25-year enhancement because a firearm was used in the offenses. He could have asked for the minimum sentence and it would have been a de facto life sentence. Instead he asked for 90 years.

My attorneys did the best they could to try and persuade my judge to give me a sentence below the mandatory minimum. They referenced the United States Supreme Court’s ruling in Miller versus Alabama which ordered that juvenile offenders could not receive life without parole in prison, even for serious crimes such as murder. The justices detailed how children were not miniature adults and should not and should receive certain protections when being sentenced in adult courts. It was the justices’ mercy and compassion in that case that would ultimately start the process of Juvenile Justice Reform in Illinois, resulting in changes in the laws. I would ultimately benefit from the changes and receive a second chance at life outside of prison. I’ll talk more about that later because It still took over a decade for me to receive that benefit.

At the time of my sentencing hearing the Supreme Court’s ruling was still fresh. It had been decided earlier that that same year and trial courts were still trying to digest the full meaning of their order. So while my attorneys were asking my trial judge to sentence me well below the mandatory minimum, my judge responded saying that his hands were tied because the law mandated I receive a minimum of 51 years. He couldn’t disregard the law no matter how young I was.

As for the US Supreme Court’s ruling in Miller versus Alabama, He mentioned that their order did not allow him to go below the mandatory minimums. The court’s order only protected me from receiving an actual sentence of life without parole. Because 51 years or even 90 years is not identified in the court’s ruling as de facto life sentences, they were still allowed to be applied to me.

In the end my judge sentenced me to 61 years in prison. He gave me 26 years for the murder conviction, 10 years for the aggravated battery, plus the mandatory 25-year firearm enhancement. I looked at him as if I didn’t care. He looked back at me and was probably thinking about how I had no idea of what I was up against moving forward.

The truth is, that I didn’t care about the 61-year sentence. He could have given me the 90 years and it would have been the same to me, a life sentence in prison that I intended to challenge until I won or died in the prison. I could not accept his sentence as my final fate. I believed in my heart that the sentence would not stand. Part of it was hope, mixed with some fear. The rest was divine intuition.

Believe it or not, I was happy to finally have my 61-year sentence. It meant that I would be on my way to prison and on to my appeal. My judge had ordered the sheriff to facilitate my transfer to IDOC. He also ordered that my appeal be handled by the Office of the State Appellate Defender who are essentially the public defenders for Indigent appellates.

Two weeks later I would be on my way to Statesville Northern reception/classification unit.

Thanks for reading! Getting the word out about my memoir takes people like you. It would mean the world to me if you would consider sharing it with someone you think may be interested in reading it too. With gratitude, Dre.

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I did not want to go back to my cell. I wanted to stay in the courtroom with Kevin and Eric. The last thing I wanted to do was be alone. So, when the officer shut the door on me back in segregation, I couldn’t do anything except stand there for a minute. I didn’t know what to think or what to do next. It was almost midnight.

I sat on my bunk for a while. The only reason I was able to fall asleep was exhaustion.

As you can imagine, I woke up the following morning feeling extreme depression and anxiety. I felt defeated. I had to allow myself to let go and be vulnerable because I didn’t know how to respond to what just happened. The trial was over and I had been convicted. I was going to prison, potentially for the rest of my life. I knew that there was an appeal process, but I knew nothing about how that process worked. Besides, I didn’t even have enough hope to see that far into the future. I struggled to form a coherent thought about anything. It wasn’t helpful that I was trapped in that cell for 23 hours each day. Fortunately, I only had to do two more days in segregation before it was taken back to the classification unit.

I was happy to be leaving segregation. It had been a long 60 days. I had lost at least 10 lb. I came out of there looking like a completely different person. I thought it was interesting that I was placed in the Cell by myself. That was rare considering the issue of overcrowding in the jail. I remember being annoyed at the fact that my cell was directly in front of the officer’s desk. It allowed no privacy to use the bathroom. But also, there was just too much eye contact between me and the officer at the desk. It felt like every time I looked up he was looking right at me. It was weird as hell.

I would find out later that afternoon that I was actually on suicide watch, again. A mental health professional came to check on me asking a series of questions before she could take me off watch. I told her I was good and didn’t need to be on suicide watch. She didn’t seem to care either way. She took me off watch and was gone. A couple of days later I was moved back into the general population.

It felt good being back in general pop because I was able to move around and clear my head when I needed to. I had been boxed in during my trial with nothing but my stress and anxiety. I had no one to talk to because I didn’t have any access to the phone, except one hour per day, usually early in the morning before my day of trial began.

I was also able to buy food. Although, my family didn’t have much money so I wasn’t able to buy much food. The commissary was for me a hit or miss. It really was a humbling experience.

Being back in general pop I began to find some balance. My Hope tank was beginning to fill up a little bit at a time, as the days went by. I wasn’t delusional anymore. I knew that I was going to prison, likely with a life sentence. At times the thought of that made me really sad and scared a little bit. However, I use these moments to fuel my courage as I usually went into self-preservation mode immediately after. I was able to accept the fact that I’ve been convicted and would be sentenced to prison. I had firmly committed though that I would not accept whatever my sentence was as being my final fate. I would fight for my freedom for the rest of my life if I had to. I began to focus on what would give me an opportunity to do that, which was the appeal process.and knew nothing about how the process worked. I just knew it existed and could potentially allow me to challenge my conviction. Man, I lost count of how many times people told me that I would win or on my appeal and I would be right back. This usually came from people who meant well, but had never had to go through the process.

As I would learn, the reality is that Criminal Appeals of convictions are very, very, very hard to win. It is very rare, especially if you’re convicted of a violent crime. Once someone has a conviction and sentence it’s probably a 95% chance that they will serve that time. That’s my opinion only. To me it appears that it is consistently becoming harder to win favorable appellate rulings at every level of the Appellate process. rules and rights appear to be changed or blurred in an effort to close the doors that led to relief for criminal appeals.Having hope and something to look forward to was everything for me and still is to this day.

Don’t get me wrong, I had hope building and I wasn’t focusing on my future appeal, but things were different knowing that I had a conviction versus the idea of being threatened by one. I was still extremely, extremely stressed and anxious everyday. carrying that weight and trying to think of how I could get it off of me. Many days I felt melancholy, or dejected, but had to keep my head up and a smile on my face. The time where I struggled the most was when we had to lock down at night. I dreaded having to lay down for bed because I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep.

I suffered from insomnia. It started once I made it back into the general population. The first couple of nights I laid in bed for hours trying to sleep. I couldn’t go to sleep no matter how tired my body was. Even if I wasn’t feeling stressed or thinking about my case, sleep would not come to me. I would lay there squeezing my eyes shut, tossing and turning. Then breakfast would show up. I’d eat and go through the same routine. I wouldn’t actually go to sleep until the sun began to rise. I’d sleep for about an hour until the morning shift officer would wake us up for cell cleaning. There was no going back to sleep after that. Once the day room opened up at 8:00 a.m. our doors were open and flush against the wall there was no chance that I would be able to take a nap. not with my door being wide open. It didn’t feel safe, not to mention the noise coming from the day room.

My sentence hearing was 6 months away, and I didn’t sleep through the night not once.

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I was sitting at the defense table waiting for my attorneys to get there. They arrived shortly before the two prosecutors. I immediately felt comfortable seeing them walk through the doors. I gave them my usual smile as they headed over. I knew what the first order of business was. We were going to be picking my jury for most of the day.

Eventually my judge entered the courtroom. He was actually newly appointed only a week or so prior. For whatever reason, the judge that had presided over my case for 18 months decided to hand my case over to another judge just days before my trial was set to start. I could be wrong, but I think my case was his first murder trial that he was going to preside over. I didn’t mind. He made a good first impression on me. He was very respectful and easy going and he seemed fair. After speaking with my attorneys and the states Attorneys at the bench the judge ordered that my prospective jurors be brought into the courtroom once they begin filing in, I was told to stand and face them watching them fill up the gallery. All of us were smiling and trying to connect with each potential juror. I tried my best to put on a genuine smile. I tried to calm my nerves as I had instantly become nervous while being in their presence.

Once they were seated, my judge got straight to business. He introduced himself to everyone first. Then he introduced the state’s attorneys, and then myself as well as my attorneys.

The energy in the room was good. It was thrilling, in the sense most people in the gallery seemed in good spirits. Some even seemed excited to be there. I remember sitting there and deciding to try and sneak a glance back at the gallery. When I did there was a woman staring right at me. I was so caught off guard and so nervous that I just froze staring back at her. She smiled at me and gave me a friendly stare and I could do all I could do is stare back with a blank look on my face and then look away. It was like my brain had frozen. I normally would have smiled back, but that wasn’t the case. I know that she felt some kind of way about that moment because she would not look at me anymore after that. Whenever she did, there wasn’t that friendly, almost flirtatious smile. Her new look made me feel like I had done something wrong to her. She would ultimately be one of the people chosen to sit on my jury and decide my fate.

I’m not going to detail the experience of jury selection/voir dire. It was very long and boring. I will say that picking a jury is a very very important part of the trial process. Picking a solid jury could decide whether you will get a fair trial or not. Sometimes it can mean that you will get a little more than a fair trial. You may get a compassionate juror who throws you a lifeline, or a second chance, even if the odds are against you.

Of course, you could end with a jury of people who can do the opposite. You may not stand a chance from the first day. You could truly be innocent, but there may be a majority of people on your jury who are conservative, pro police, pro prosecution, tough on crime based individuals. They won’t tell your attorneys that. They’ll answer all your questions properly just so they end up on your jury. And when it’s time to deliberate, they will convince other jurors to vote unanimously against. The other jurors may disagree for a moment, but will ultimately sign that guilty verdict because they want to go home and be done with the trial. Most jurors probably don’t know that their verdict doesn’t have to be unanimous. Sure, it has to be unanimous for a finding of guilt or acquittal. But if everyone signs the verdict and the total isn’t unanimous, their job is done. If the jury can’t reach a unanimous verdict, their job is done and a mistrial will be declared.

I don’t believe the procedure for picking a jury in Illinois is fair. It is ultimately, in my opinion, a system that prevents you from truly having an impartial jury. You are only allowed to strike a certain number of people who you believe may be biased toward you. I believe you get between five to seven strikes. The only other way to remove them is if they make it clear that they can’t be fair, or if there is some sort of conflict. Also, you can request the judge remove an individual for any number of reasons. Good luck with that.

The prosecution also has the same amount of strikes as you. They use them to remove people who may be favorable toward you.

You don’t just go in there and decide who you want. After questioning a certain number of people, you begin accepting or striking them in the order that they were seated. so, while I had about 60 people there on jury duty, we didn’t question or consider all of them. It wasn’t even close.

Also, the idea of having a “jury of your peers” isn’t the reality of what some people may think. There were people from all over Lake county, but none of them were from where I grew up. There were a sprinkling of people from Waukegan or Zim, but they were taken out of consideration pretty quickly. Almost everyone that we questioned seemed to come from areas far from where I grew up, and from backgrounds that in my opinion would have made it harder for them to be impartial. Areas that might have been more affluent, or not as diverse. Areas that didn’t have an issue with crime. Of course, this is only my opinion. I did feel uncomfortable at the lack of diversity in my jury pool. Almost all of them were white. It wasn’t a surprise when all 14 members selected for my jury were white. I don’t think that they were racially biased toward me. I didn’t get that vibe, nor do I have any proof of that. I’m simply stating that’s how the whole procedure can put you at risk of having a jury that is not impartial.

I believe we spent the whole morning picking my jury. The actual presentation of evidence began after lunch in the afternoon.

During this part of my trial, the courtroom was open to the public and would be moving forward. The entire gallery was full. Seated behind me and throughout were my family and friends who came to support me. Seated behind the prosecutors table were family and friends of Farkhan. There were also several attorneys and random people from the public watching my trial.

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When I spoke to my attorneys in the days leading up to court, they had told me that they were ready to go to trial and that they believed the prosecution would agree to move forward as scheduled. I couldn’t believe it. When we made it to court it became official. Both us and the prosecution informed the judge that we were ready to go on to trial. I believe the trial was set to start that following week.

My judge gave the order to allow me to have street clothes brought to the jail for my trial. There were some last minute housekeeping issues that needed to be addressed concerning evidence or motions that needed to be addressed. I didn’t care about any of that. I was overwhelmed with excitement and kind of in my head thinking about what was next to come.

I spent almost every day meeting with Kevin and Eric. Most of the time it was for them to make sure I was doing okay mentally and emotionally. I felt good. I was excited and very anxious. Finally getting to that point was a big deal. Honestly, I was still very much living in a fantasy world thinking or simply hoping that I might win at my trial.

The two of them came to visit me the day before my trial was set to begin. I asked them what they thought my chances of winning were. It was not my first time asking this question. I usually ask the question directly to Kevin because I appreciated his ability to be straight up and honest. He gave me the same answer that he had before. That the odds were against me, and that it was going to be an uphill battle, but they were going to do everything they could. I just looked down at the table while nodding my head. I heard him, yet I felt nothing.

I looked up and the two of them were staring at me. They had a mixture of sadness and curiosity on their faces. Probably wondering how I could be so calm and unfazed when I was seriously in jeopardy of being convicted in a matter of days, and headed to prison for the rest of my life.

Kevin broke the silence. He asked me if I would have liked for them to reach out to the state’s attorney about a potential plea agreement. I told him I didn’t want that. He then asked me if I wanted to pursue a self-defense strategy. I had never given him any version of events of what happened that night. A self-defense argument would require an admitting of guilt. It would require me to testify, he explained.

I pondered the idea for a second. However, I was working with limited information at the time. I didn’t fully understand how a claim of self-defense would potentially affect my case. I wasn’t comfortable putting myself in such a vulnerable position by admitting my guilt. I told him I would stick to our current strategy of me completely denying any responsibility. a claim of mistaken identity. They respected my decision.

What I didn’t know was that if I claimed self-defense, my jury would have been given not just jury instruction for first degree murder, they would have also been given the option to convict me of second degree murder. Second degree is a lesser offense of murderers, and it carries a much lighter sentence if convicted of it. It implies that a person acted out of fear and self-defense. The idea being that the killing was essentially justified because someone’s life was being threatened.

That was not the truth of the matter with my case. I would have had to tell my truth and hope that my jury chose to convict me of the lesser offense of murder instead of first degree. It would have been a strategy of accepting the fact that I would be getting convicted, but that I would not be spending the rest of my life in prison. It would have been me hoping that my jury picked the option between first degree murder and acquittal.

It would have been a gamble, and scary. However, it would have been a much better strategy compared to the one I went with. Unfortunately, it is well established in our criminal justice system that “ignorance to the law is no excuse.”

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This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

Chapter 6 part 3

On the status date, my attorneys and I appear in front of the judge. My judge noticed that I was wearing a red jumpsuit - instead of usual blue which signified that I was in segregation. He may even have asked my attorney why I was in segregation. I just looked at the ground. He did not seem happy about it. What happened next shocked and disappointed me so much I almost cursed out loud. The prosecution was seeking a continuance and now a new trial date. The reason for doing so was because the jail had given them a CD with all of my phone calls on them. There were several hours worth of calls they had to listen to and needed more time. My judge wasn’t happy. He asked them if they were aware of any sort of admission of guilt by me and any of the calls. They weren’t. Yet they wanted to make sure my judge allowed them the continuance. My trial was pushed back to late May.

From what I could tell, that was going to be the last continuance. The prosecutors gave that impression to my judge. My judge made it clear that he wouldn’t be okay, with any more requests for continuances moving forward. I was cool with the new trial date. I knew it was coming. I was more concerned about the phone calls. I knew better than to make any sort of confession on the recorded calls. My attorney told me as soon as I got to the jail, do not talk about your case on that phone. They were serious about it and I remembered their advice every time I used the phone.

I personally didn’t think the prosecutors were actively listening to my calls. There were too many hours of calls. I also knew that the jail wouldn’t just call the prosecution and offer them a CD with all of my calls on it. I had reason to believe that the prosecution needed some extra time because they were having trouble securing a very important witness. It was just one of the factors you’d have if you’d have asked me. There are a lot of tactics that are used to delay a trial. There are also tactics used to try and get a confession out of someone on a recorded device. When you use a jail or prison phone it tells you immediately that the calls are being recorded and potentially monitored, but there are situations where your conversations could be recorded without your knowledge. An example would be someone in the jail wearing a wire or a microphone recording device connected to it.

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This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

Chapter 3 Part 2

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When I stepped out I embraced the new environment. I walked from one end to the other. The deck was pretty big. It had about 40 cells, with many cells holding two people per cell.

I figured if someone had a problem with me they would make it clear as we crossed each other’s path. The problem was that most people who had a problem with me prior to me getting locked up I had never even met before. I could have been standing right next to someone in the jail and wouldn’t have known that I was in danger.

After a couple of rounds, I realized that no one on the deck had any issues with me. There were some men that I had known from outside on deck with me, as well as several who I never met who were happy to see me. It was all love and respect. They were aware of my charges and had been supporting and rooting for me to be acquitted, largely because of my age at the time of the incident, but also because of my reputation and character as being a solid good dude. This allowed me to relax.

There was actually one person who was on the deck who my group of friends had issues with. He and I never had a confrontation. We’d never even spoken to each other before, but his friends and mine couldn’t share the same space without fighting. He and his friends had a bad reputation that made me not like any of them as a whole. I figured he felt the same way about me and for a moment I thought we were going to have a confrontation. When we crossed each other’s path, we made eye contact. He knew who I was, and immediately he smiled and greeted me. He was friendly and respectful. He essentially put aside the issues that her friends had and empathised with me because of my circumstances facing life in prison. I also believe that he just didn’t have any interest in getting into a fight with me considering my character and our age difference. He would have been about 3 years older than I was. He didn’t want conflict. He wanted to be cool with me. I was hesitant, but okay with that. I’m a pretty friendly and easy going person despite what many people think. I’ve always been that way, even back when I was 17. I was never the type looking for trouble or looking to have a beef with someone. So when this guy initiated peace and cordiality, I was cool with it. Well I tried my best to be.

The only reason that I was hesitant was because it felt disingenuous. The two of us had never had issues personally, but there was an uneasy feeling deep down inside of me because of some of the things that he and his friends had done. Things they had done to friends of mine.

So, while I kept things cordial with him, it began to feel like I was being phony. I also felt like I was being disloyal to my friends and my own principles. The more I felt that way, the more I began to feel contempt for this guy. I didn’t make it two weeks before I picked a fight with him. Like I said, 17-year-old Dre didn’t have the maturity or tools that I have today. If that were the case, I would have accepted the guy’s peace and efforts to leave the past behind. I would have respected and appreciated his efforts. We wouldn’t have been friends, but there would have been a level of mutual respect and consistent peace. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

One day we were eating lunch, sitting at the same time and I found a way to slip into our conversation and insult his friends, hoping to get a reaction. It worked. Initially he was caught off guard. Things were respectful between us up until that point. He responded quickly and with a new attitude. I took advantage of the moment and told them exactly how I felt about his friends. I can’t remember exactly what I said, but in response he got so angry and wanted to fight.

I wasn’t necessarily trying to provoke a fight. I honestly just wanted him to know how I truly felt. We didn’t have to fight about it. He could have disagreed, accepted it, or whatever. Instead, he told me to step inside his cell after lunch. It was an invitation to fight. I accepted it, and just like that it was on.

After lunch I met him at his cell. Everyone knew what was going on. The idea was to go inside the cell, settle our differences and move forward without any consequences. If necessary, either of us would stay in our cells to heal up and hide any evidence of a fight. This way we would avoid segregation.

I don’t remember why, but we did not go into his cell to fight. We squared up in front of his cell with a bunch of spectators. I knew we were going to get caught. Nonetheless, there was no turning back.

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This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

Chapter 6 - Part 1

I had not seen society in about 15 months at that time, so I was sort of soaking up all that freedom remembering what it felt like and using it as a hope for my future.

The ride to the county this time was much different than my usual trips to the courthouse. On my previous rides I was always sitting in the back of a van with no windows. This time though, I was in a SUV with tinted windows. I had not seen society in about 15 months at that time, so I was sort of soaking up all that freedom remembering what it felt like and using it as a hope for my future. It felt good sitting there thinking that I could be free again in the near future.

We arrived again at the jail cell report. This time when we stepped into the booking/reception area we didn’t just pass through it. I was placed in the bullpen with the other men who had been booked in the previous day before. They were still being processed which was weird to me. It made me wonder how long it took to get processed. in HDC it usually took only a couple of hours.

I had gotten there about 9:00 a.m. and there were already about 5 to 10 of us waiting to be processed. More people had come in from the streets as the day went on. At some point I had my fingerprints and photo taken. I just knew that I was on my way at that point. Nope. I sat in that bullpen until 10:00 p.m. The jail officers finally came, had us all file out of the bullpen and grab mattresses and bedrolls (blanket and sheet). Once again, I just knew that we were on our way to a living unit. I was sadly disappointed. The officers led us around a couple of corners into another bullpen that was a little bigger than the previous one, yet still too small for all of us including our mats to fit. There were at least 15 of us and it was overcrowded. We had to lay on our mats on the floor. We were damn near touching each other. There was no laying on your side. not unless you enjoyed smelling and staring at a strange man. I did not enjoy that. I did not enjoy being crammed into the bullpen in any sense. It was extremely uncomfortable. I was surrounded by a bunch of strangers who came from all walks of life, many of whom smelled like they hadn’t showered in days. Some were sick because of drug withdrawal. Everyone was in their feelings except me because they were adjusting to being looked locked up less than 24 hours before. For the most part everyone just minded their own business.

There was only one toilet with no privacy. only one phone, and the lights were turned out. It was not good. I laid on my mat looking at the ceiling thinking about how different the county jail was compared to juvenile detention. I told myself that I had to suck it up, but I had pushed the staff at HDC to make sure the transfer happened so I couldn’t complain. I figured things would get better once we made it out of booking. Well, at some point I fell asleep. It felt like I had been asleep only a couple of hours when the lights came on. of course they were super bright. I noticed that several people were still asleep when I woke up. I couldn’t believe they weren’t fazed by bright ass lights. On top of that, they appeared to be sleeping really well! They were comfortable. I remember thinking to myself that, yeah, they had definitely been through this routine before. for sure.

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This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

“It was deep inside of me and felt like complete hopelessness, despair, fear, uncertainty and defeat all at the same time. I never felt anything like it in my life. I was shocked as I realized I was not in control of my mind at that moment. There was no convincing myself that everything was going to be okay. I was feeling the raw reality of how much trouble I was in. This feeling was so sudden and so acute that all I could do was put the pillow over my head and squeeze my eyes shut until I fell asleep.”

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Chapter 5 Part 2

Once my attorneys arrived, they came over to speak with me. seeing them made me smile. this would become an unconscious habit at every Court date. I instantly felt more at ease knowing they were there. It was my first time meeting Eric. He, like Kevin, was cool as hell. It was interesting, seeing the two of them together. Kevin is a very laid-back, thoughtful, and maybe even more of an emotional person. Whenever he spoke to me it felt like he really considered carefully what words to use.He is very genuine and straight up. I always appreciated his honesty, whether it was favorable or not.

Eric is very genuine as well. But while Kevin was the more serious of the two, Eric was always the lighthearted funny one. He could be very serious as well, especially when dealing with the judge or prosecutor, but when it was the three of us he was always high energy and good vibes.

It was nice being there in court, with the two of them for the first time. They explained to me again what to expect from my judge and how to respond. Things went exactly as they said it would. What stood out to me the most was how the judge spoke to me as if I were any other grown man coming through his courtroom as if admonishing 15-year-old kids about murder charges and potentially spending the rest of their lives in prison was normal business in his courtroom. He reinforced my feelings of not wanting to be vulnerable or trust the criminal justice system. I plead not guilty.

I was in front of my judge for every bit of a few minutes and it was over. I spoke with Kevin and Eric for a second afterwards. They told me that I would be assigned a new judge who would preside over my case moving forward. They also told me that my court date was the following month. And at that appearance an actual trial date would be set for me, but that I shouldn’t expect to go to trial so soon.I was good with that, just hearing that a trial date was being said was all I needed to hear. I disregarded everything that came after that!

Ultimately, it would take a total of about 18 months before my trial started. So, while I left that court appearance feeling excited and full of expectations, that would begin to change as my trial dates were constantly pushed back.

At that moment though, I had great energy. I had my first court appearance and two great attorneys who were fighting for me. I also had court the following month with the expectation there would be a trial date set. I was feeling really good.

I made it to my next court date without any issues. We went through the same routine. The tour through the County jail, Down and through the creepy tunnel and passed the bull pens, heading straight to my courtroom. The only difference this time was that I had a new courtroom and a different judge. My name was called and I made the slow walk from the jury box to the judge’s bench. He was sitting up pretty high. I had to look up at him. When I did I saw that he was looking right at me. He was all business. He looked like he was strict and he had zero tolerance for b******* in his courtroom. He greeted me very respectfully and then got straight down to business with my attorneys in the prosecutors. They discussed the prosecution’s obligation to turn over all discovery documents related to my case. Discovery is all of the police reports, witness statements, and any other forms of evidence that the police and prosecutors are in possession of. disclosure is required by law, and failure to do so could result in what’s known as a Brady violation, which would require a new trial to be granted if the violation occurs after someone has been convicted.

The discovery materials are essentially everything that was produced after the investigation by law enforcement. It’s the prosecution’s case in full. It was critical that I and my attorneys had everything so we would have a fair chance of defending me.

That court date mainly concerned our discovery request. My judge made it clear that I should have all of my discovery material before my next court date, which would be another 60 days or so away. I can’t remember the dates exactly, but almost all my court dates were 30 to 60 days apart.

At the end of the discussion the judge set a date for my next appearance. He also said a trial date to follow that. The idea being that I’d have a status court date set to give either side a chance to make my request, address any concerns, file motions, and most importantly, inform the judge as to whether we were prepared to proceed to trial on the scheduled date, or if we were seeking a continuance. For example, if I had a status date in March, I’d also have a trial date set in late March or April. I had a request for a speedy trial on file, so this prevented the prosecution from delaying my trial indefinitely. If I were to say At my March status date that I was ready to go to trial, the judge would be obligated by law to start my trial within 120 days or dismiss my charges against me.

Most trial dates are continued at the agreement of both parties until both sides are ready to go. That was the case for me, for the most part. I kept seeing my trial date pushed back and it was heartbreaking every time for me.

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This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

15 facing life

Chapter 5-Part 1

My first day back at HDC, I was walking down the hall towards the Pod after leaving intake/processing. It felt awkward being back because I knew that all of the staff were aware of my new charges. I knew they would be paying close attention to me. I didn’t want the attention. Luckily, once I made it to the pod everyone was out in the gym. I avoided the embarrassing exposure of being the new guy that everyone experiences when they first come to the pod.

I stepped into the gym while the rest of the kids were distracted running around. I found a seat by myself in one of the couches. One of the staff members came over and sat next to me. I knew her from my previous stints at HDC and we had a pretty good rapport with each other. We kicked up casual conversation - nothing about my charges - and spent most of the rec period talking. When it was time to go inside, I felt at ease. I was going to start to adjust to being there again. It was exactly what I needed. She knew that.

The staff at HTC were nothing short of incredible. There were some I didn’t always see eye to eye with, but even they were good people who had my best interest in mind. I was just a stubborn kid who had some tough moments and I wasn’t always easy to work with. There were a lot of great days too, but the moments where I struggled I deeply regret my behavior and attitude toward the staff. I completely took them for granted. They went out of their way to make me as comfortable as I could be under the circumstances. They bent the rules for me so many times, allowing me privileges that other kids couldn’t get. I owe all of them and apology and so much gratitude.

Another big adjustment for me was having to accept the fact that I could have been home the week prior. I had spent the previous three months anticipating going home and starting my life over, only to find out at the last minute that I would not be going home—I may never go home again. It took some time for me to adjust to that reality.

In the next week or two, I hadn’t heard anything concerning my case. I didn’t know what was going to come next. I wasn’t too concerned about that because I figured at some point I would find out. there was no doubt about that.

Within that first month (December 2010) I had been chilling in the pod when I was told that I had a visitor. I was surprised because it was a weekday and it was in the morning. My visiting days were on the weekends and in the evening. I had no idea who was coming to visit me. The first option that came to mind was that it was a law enforcement coming to question me. I put my guard up immediately and prepared myself for a confrontation.

I was sitting in the visiting room and the metal doors buzzed open. A man walked in and for a second I thought maybe he was law enforcement. I would have never guessed that he was my attorney! He was wearing blue jeans and a plaid dress shirt. It did not register in my mind at all that my attorney would come and visit me at some point. On top of that, my image of a lawyer included someone in a suit of some sort, or dress skirt.

So my attorney, whose name is Kevin Malia, by the way, comes to sit across from me and smiles at me. He introduced himself and explained to me that he and his partner Eric Reinhardt were appointed to represent me as “Special Public Defenders.” They were private attorneys who worked closely with the Lake County Public Defender’s Office under certain circumstances. I acknowledge that I understood, but didn’t say much else.

I can’t remember everything that was said, but at some point we got around to July 3rd to 4th. Kevin wanted me to tell him my side of the story. I immediately cut him off, telling him that I was not responsible and that I did not have anything more to say about it. He wasn’t hearing that. He tried explaining to me the importance of me telling him what had happened that night. I wasn’t trying to hear any of that. There was no way I was admitting to him or anyone else what I had done. I knew, once I did, there was no going back.

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Kevin, it was more about my ignorance of the law and why he felt it was so important—and of course, self-preservation was an important factor.

He didn’t push me on the issue, and I appreciated that. I really just wanted him and Eric to prove my innocence by discrediting the prosecution’s case. I had no clue how things worked in the real world of Criminal Justice.

Kevin went on to explain what the next steps were in the process. Apparently I already had a court date set in January 2011. It would be my “arraignment”. I would appear in front of a judge in the adult criminal court. The judge would read my charges to me, as well as any potential punishment if I am found to be guilty. Then I’d be given the opportunity to plead either guilty or not guilty. I was becoming excited.

Kevin and I spoke briefly after that and then he told me to “hang in there” before heading out. I liked him. I felt like he was going to fight for me. he probably walked away from that meeting feeling like I was not what he had expected. but I was a tough kid who didn’t know what a grind it was going to be moving forward. I walked away from the meeting with mixed emotions. I felt maybe I had been a bit too closed off and stubborn. I may have even come across as having a bad attitude. At the same time I was excited knowing that I had not one, but two attorneys. I also had a court date coming up. Things were moving forward. That’s all I needed to know. that we were making progress and that I had someone fighting for me.

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This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

Chapter 4 - Part 2

So, I was officially done with my 3-month sentence, but I was still stuck until Waukegan Police Department came to pick me up. I can’t remember exactly, but I believe it took about four more days for them to come and get me. The day I was granted parole, I just happened to see my counselor. I headed to the gym and we crossed paths. I introduced myself to her and before I could say anything else, she caught me and told me that my parole would be put on hold and that I would be turned over to Waukegan police custody. I told her that I had been granted parole that day and was wondering when the officers would come and pick me up. She gave me a disgusted look, told me she did not know, then turned and walked away. She clearly had an attitude with me and I figured she was judging me because of what I was accused of. I was unfazed by it.

The next day, I was in the gym again and my counselor came to get me because she wanted me to call my mom. I hadn’t been able to talk to my family in the week that I’ve been there because they couldn’t afford the collect calls. My counselor had arranged for me to call my mom using her office phone. It was a pleasant surprise that I was grateful for.

I called my mom and it went as expected. she had already been informed by that point about my charges. She was a bit emotional in the beginning of the call. She was concerned about me and how I was holding up. I told her I was okay and maintaining. There really wasn’t much to say and the call ended pretty quickly. We may have talked for 10 minutes. Once she realized I was good, I could tell she was in better spirits. Before we ended the call, she told me to send some of my strength to her through the mail.

It felt great talking to my mom. Someone who I was close to and not a stranger. I needed to feel that connection and familiarity. I felt alone and on my own every minute I was in St Charles. A couple of days after speaking with my mom, the Waukegan police did come to pick me up. I was escorted to a sally port and when I got there I saw three detectives standing next to their car. One of them I recognized instantly. It was the detective who had called me and asked for me to meet him to answer some questions. The guy I snapped out on. The one who threatened to slap the s*** out of me.

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This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

Chapter 4 - Part 1

Hearing my counselor tell me that I was being indicted for first degree murder and an aggravated battery with a firearm was so surreal that I was almost speechless. I didn’t know what to say other than okay. My brain had frozen as if I was psychologically paralyzed. My worst fears had become reality. All I was able to do in that moment was to let it happen and go with the flow. I didn’t get upset or ask questions. I didn’t even know what to ask. Besides, I knew what I did. There was no need to play games.

I felt vulnerable and afraid of what the indictment meant. I didn’t know what was going to happen next, other than my immediate transfer. I think I went into shock and zoned out. My counselor was asking me to sign some paperwork, and I did so without even knowing what it was that I was signing. After I signed them, my counselor thanked me and turned and walked away without saying another word to me. Shortly after that I was put in shackles and chains and we hit the road on our way to St Charles.

On the ride there, I spent most of it looking out of the window into traffic and all of the people who were free. I sat there wondering if I would ever be out there in society again. Just knowing that it was very possible that I would never be in society again gave me a sick feeling deep inside of me that I’d never felt before. I can’t put into words how that felt other than to say it felt like I was living in a bad dream. I felt a deep sense of hopelessness and despair. I spent some time thinking about what it would be like when I told my family. How hard it would be to tell them, knowing they would be devastated. It wasn’t something I was looking forward to. It did make me sad knowing that they would be hurting because of what I’ve done, and because there wasn’t much I could do to help them.

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Chapter 3 Part 2

My first day back in HDC was very weird and uncomfortable. It’s

usually like that the first few days. It is an adjustment phase after

having your freedom taken away, being in a strange environment with

a bunch of people you don’t know or care to know, and being told to

follow so many rules. I embraced the adjustment though, and in time I

was okay. My life had been so chaotic before I had gotten there. I did

feel a sense of peace because I didn’t feel so much pressure.

I was a little bit anxious about what my judge would do about me

being back, and especially for such a serious offence. As one could

imagine, I was still very anxious about what the end results would be

from the murder investigation.

On my second day back in HDC I remember sitting alone on a sofa

and the superintendent of the Detention Center coming up to me

asking how I was doing. I told her I was okay. We had a quick

dialogue, although I can’t remember what was said. I do remember

her making a comment about cars crashing into a hotel. It wasn’t a

question directed at me, nor do I think, she was even expecting a

response from me. I just looked at her and shook my head and turned

away.

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Once we made it to the station, we went through the motions of me getting my photo and fingerprints taken. There was a brief interrogation that was straightforward and to the point of me acknowledging the weapon that I possessed which was a Beretta 92F, 9 mm. The officer showed me a photo and asked me to sign it and date it. This was important for me because I knew that the officers couldn’t pop up later on with a gun that was connected to a shooting or something like that. A gun that I didn’t actually possess.

The officer also asked me to tell them when and where I bought the gun. I told them I bought it months before but couldn’t remember who. That wasn’t true. Someone had given me the gun for free only a few days prior to that interview.

There wasn’t much more for us to talk about and shortly after a few questions we were on our way to the juvenile detention center. The name back then was the Hulse Detention Center, but everyone there called it the HDC.

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This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

Chapter 2 - Part 2

As time went on, things only got worse. I knew that I was under investigation, but aside from that, my mental health was suffering. During the day I would be in sort of a trance just going through the motions of getting through the day. I also had a lot of people who were once friends begin to turn on me. I remember texting a female friend around that time and her response was f*** you. I will pray for you. I knew a lot of people felt that way and I didn’t blame them. They didn’t know the truth of what actually happened and there was no way for me to come out and say that I didn’t mean to shoot him without putting myself in jeopardy. I felt horrible but I wasn’t going to make a confession and throw myself at the mercy of the criminal justice system.

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This memoir is a collection of memories, stories, and experiences that have shaped my transformation from a 15 year old boy navigating life and death in the streets of my hometown, to finding hope in a maximum security adult prison with a life without parole sentence, and building a life of freedom beyond prison walls. My sincerest hope and intention is that you will connect with the shared human experience of overcoming your circumstances and worst mistakes to become the person you were always meant to be.

Chapter 2 - Part 1

As the police drove right past us, I made sure I kept my gaze forward. They continued past us and were focusing on the groups of people who were still running away from the hotel. I told my guy to drop me off on the set and for the most part we rode in silence. We were both in shock after what I had just done. When we made it to the set he dropped me off in an alley and left. 11 years would pass before I saw him again, as he would agree to testify on my behalf at a hearing for my post conviction petition.

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