"All rise!"

The bailiff announced, as the Judge entered the court room.

"Please be seated."

He stated, once the Judge had settled into his seat. The Judge then said,

"Would the defendant please rise?"

As I stood to my feet, he asked,

"Is there any reason why you feel I should vacate or set aside your conviction?"

Although extremely nervous and afraid because of my uncertainty about my future, I somehow found the strength to state,

''Your honor, I did not kill this man"

The judge then said,

"Since I've heard no other reason as to why I should vacate the defendant's sentence, Mr. Johnson, you are hereby sentenced to Life Without the Possibility of Parole - to be served in the Department of Corrections, starting immediately."

When the Judge's gavel slammed, it seemed as if all time slowed to a stop.

My entire body felt numb, and it took me a moment to collect my senses after hearing what I had been sentenced to.

After my conviction, my life would take on a brand new meaning. The reality of never seeing the streets again had begun to set in, as me and around 50 other convicted prisoners were being transported to an entirely different world that many of us had never experienced before, called "PRISON". There was almost complete silence the entire ride. Other than a few scattered conversations here and there, many of the other prisoners either had their eyes closed In quiet reflection or were gazing intently out of the prison bus windows; as if recording their final views of society in their minds to think back on at later points in their prison bids. Shackled like a slave in chains, "So Many Tears," by 2Pac was playing in my head as silent tears filled the wells of my eyes and a few began to stream down my face. I began to try to understand how I would be spending the rest of my life behind bars for a crime that I did not commit. Even though the situation was bleak, I still somehow sensed that there was a purpose for me within the madness.

After I was transported from Potosi Correctional Center to Missouri State Penitentiary (or "The Walls", is it was often referred to), the reality of prison life became brutal and real; trying to find my place in the midst of it all was a difficult task . It was there where I witnessed rapes, stabbings, gang assaults, suicides, and many other chaotic elements of prison firsthand. It was very clear; if those walls

could talk, there was a dark and sinister story to be told. As I adjusted to my new environment, all I could think about was what the prison guard who was driving the bus said as we made our way towards the entrance of the prison.

"Listen up, Gentlemen!"

He bellowed.

"See what It says an the sign above the prison entrance?

Once we cross this threshold, you are to 'Leave all your hopes and dreams behind!'"

Can you Imagine the psychological effect that had on the prisoners? More importantly, what it did to the still-malleable hearts and minds of those who were 21 years of age and younger who were forced to survive in such a violent, inhumane environment?

Psychologists have discovered through years of study and research that the human brain doesn't fully develop until around 25 years of age and older. It wasn't long into my prison bid before I began to meet inmates who had been sentenced to Life without Parole as juveniles, but their sentencing would change over the years. A United States Supreme Court decision meant 80 or so Inmates would become eligible for parole after 25 years. It was declared that Life Without Parole was "unconstitutional" for juveniles, and many of them given parole since that ruling have never returned to prison. So for those of us who were not considered juveniles, but were still 21 and under, I ask that you imagine what life would be like if we were given a meaningful opportunity at freedom once again as well.  There was a small window of hope for individuals like me when a bill was submitted for those who were sentenced when they were 21 and younger to be eligible for parole after 30 years, but unfortunately it never passed.

The bit of hope I once used to see in many of the inmates is slowly but steadily wearing away with time, and their new demeanor shows in their body language; heads slumped, shuffling feet; broken spirits, and lack of motivation. When you take hope away from anyone, you're robbing them of life. It's evident in their dally routine that keeps them institutionalized. Although I no longer indulge in substance abuse, I would like to emphasize that prisoners primarily turn to drugs to escape their reality. It numbs the pain and temporarily takes away all of life's problems, but once the drugs subside, you're faced with reality once again. Most inmates are just going through the motions; living one day at a time. For myself, it's only when I feel my plea for real justice is being ignored that I feel that I have to find a way to escape it all, but I have matured enough to be able to turn my previously self-destructive habits into positive ones, and used what I have to help other inmates.

It was many years into my prison term when a guy by the name of Mr. Jones would say something so profound to me: "Goldie," he said as he laid his frail hand upon my shoulder. "Nobody will ever remember you for the good you've done to help others in here. People will not be concerned as to why you got involved in these issues. They will remember you for only the bad things." So when I found myself confronting predators who prey on the elderly and weak; I would want to give up because it's true. I have been viewed as the bad guy. There was another elderly inmate to told me; "God sees your heart, and He knows what you're going through, so no good deed goes unnoticed with Him, and no bad deed goes unpunished." I can remember a guy telling me something about myself. "Goldie," he said. "Many inmates look at how you send out all those letters day after day, and it seems nobody has helped you yet. People are laughing at you, Goldie." It was what he said next that made me more determined than ever. "Let it go Goldie. You're not worth fighting for." In that moment, I thought about how Job must have felt when everyone told him to curse God.

When I decided to get baptized on October 22, 2015; I told God before I went under the water, "If You protect me through the valley of the shadow of death; I will fear no evil. For You are with me." When I came up from under that water, I refused to live my old life! I don't expect everyone to be receptive to the truth. Besides those I've helped, Ms. Vickie Price has believed in me. Even though I was living in prison, I wasn't going to allow prison to live inside me. It was either I decide, or someone is going to decide for me.

Many people have no clue or idea why I fight so hard to prove myself. It's because all my life I was verbally abuse, bullied, and picked on as a child. So I learned to box, my coach gave me the confidence I had previously lacked as a child. My grandmother did her best to shield me. So when I witness someone being picked on, it triggers an emotion that compels me to what to help; because I never had anyone who stood up for me. As a child watching television & seeing 'David Banner' turn into the "Incredible Hulk", it did something to me. It solidified that the bad guys would be punished. Whether or not my good deeds were seen by prison official was unclear, but they were received well by all the inmates I've aided over the years. I knew God had received my acts with good intentions; because He placed Vickie Price, from the Catholic community, into my life to mentor me through my darkest hours.

In the summer of 2007 I was at Bonne Terre. The prison was okay; despite the normal prison monotony. Several inmates were fully engulfed in the prison lifestyle, and that regularly led to problems. There was a young white kid by the name of Steve; whom couldn't have been more than 19 years old. I would frequently hang out at his cell just to have casual conversations. After a few months, we  laughed and joked about different things. However, little did I know the Evil that lurked amongst us. Two seasoned inmates were watching and studying our interactions. They were sexual predators. One morning I woke up and started my regular routine (I would shadow box every morning before the cell door would pop open). As the cell doors opened; I immediately notice Steve coming towards me, and the look in his eyes was clear. Something had him troubled. With a noticeable tremble in his voice; he said; "Goldie, I need your help. There are a couple of guys who keep asking me to hang out with them, What should I do?" I told him that when they come back, come get me. A few days later, I noticed something was off in the wing. My senses were keen on picking up certain things, and I immediately looked up to Steve's cell. I saw two guys at his door. I hurried up the stairs as fast I could and yelled; "A .... , who you looking for?" As I approached, I could see Steve over the shoulder of one of the guys. He was standing there lost, but it was fear and terror that I saw in his eyes. I looked both creeps straight in the eyes, and with a voice of conviction I said, "Leave him alone." It appeared this created a scene, because a guy I knew came up and asked, "Is there a problem?" The two predators said no, walked off, and never returned. As I was attempting to explain, he said; "Let me talk with you." It was clear from our conversation that I had just prevented Steve from being raped. Steve thanked me for being there. As time went on, Steve gained his confidence and everyone liked him.

A few years later, I met an elderly white guy who was born in 1930. "Wow", I said to myself. He had a great sense of humor, and even in his 70's; he was good hearted. Well, one day I went to his cell to joke around like usual, but he had a cold stare in his eyes. I asked, "What's wrong Mr. Charlie?" He responded; "Someone robbed my cell while I was at rec. That was all the canteen I had to survive off of for the month," If you could imagine how this made me feel. Just listening to Mr. Charlie feel so helpless touched me deeply. I told Mr. Charlie not to worry; "I got something for you." I gave Mr. Charlie twice the amount that was stolen from him. Then one day while I was at Mr. Charlie's door; out the corner of my eye I see these two guys (about my age) walk up. "I heard your name is Goldie!"; one of them said trying to sound tough. "Yeah, what's it to you?", I replied as I positioned myself for a boxing match. I tightened my fists and prayed these words; "God, if I can't help them; please don't let me hurt them." One of the guys told the other; "Let's go! Not right now." Later on that day, the same two guys rolled up on me again. This time one of them said, "That old man Mr. Charlie owes us. Are you going to pay for him?" I asked God for strength and blacked out. When I realized what had happened, both guys were trying to regain their composure from the few lefts & rights. To my far left I could hear Mr. Charlie saying, "That'll teach you punks a lesson."

I now realize that God has a way of revealing himself to us through us, and that sometimes it is not meant for others to see our vision until it has been fully brought to fruition. During our main recreation period, I often go to the "big yard". The "big yard" is a field on the prison compound where inmates can engage in different outside activities, such as ultimate Frisbee or softball, or socialize amongst each other or with other housing units through the gate that surrounds the field. The outer perimeter of the "big yard" Is a track, and that is where I find my strength and motivation as I run while listening to music through my tablet. It gives me a sense of peace and freedom from the prison mentality. It's very easy for one on the outside looking in to say "keep the faith", but it is hard for an individual in the free world to fully comprehend and understand this life unless they were to experience prison firsthand.

Two separate suicides happened recently that led many of us to wondering if we are truly only citizens of a lost and forgotten world. I was asked by a friend, "Antwann, do you honestly believe we'll ever make it out of prison alive?" My response was, "It's my hope, but only the Lord Knows." The next day, he was notified that his mother had just succumbed to cancer and died. He took it very hard, and it was clear from his statement to me that he had lost the only person in the world worth living for when he said, "Antwann, keep writing; maybe hope will come for you." I gave him what little encouragement I could, but I knew my words fell on deaf ears, and that was the last conversation I had with him before he took his own life.

Then there was "Limbo", who many of us considered a good friend and looked at as an uncle of sorts. He was a "seasoned convict" who loved to eat, play chess, and listen to his music. He struggled with substance abuse due to having to accept the reality that he would never see society again. Limbo told me one day that my ambition behind my drive to bring awareness for change reminded him of the song "What's Going On" by Marvin Gaye. It was in that moment after I listened to the words spoken in this song that I became compelled to begin writing State and Federal legislators in order to share my experiences, strengths and hopes; but what could I say to such influential people that would make my pain resonate so deeply within a legislative session to give hope to those serving Life Without Parole for the first time in history?

Many of us are now mature and over 45 years of age. We don't think, act, or process situations as young children anymore. After 24 years of Incarceration, inmates begin to become more concerned about their health, lost loved ones, grandchildren being born, and trying to determine how long they can survive in hopes that they will one day see freedom. It's natural for us as humans to want to experience some sense of unconditional love, especially while in prison, because the masses have been trained to view all of us as monsters who are unfit for society. Life Without Parole gives a person no sense of hope, and nothing to look forward to. The hopelessness stems from facing the reality that one day we will be committed to "Hospice Care" because we are dying a slow death; many with no family or friends left. In essence, it has become an extended death sentence for those who don't choose to end their own life.

If I could make a dire plea to legislators, it would be to consider giving those who are serving Life Without Parole and multiple life sentences a second chance. Statistics concerning most inmates' institutional adjustment will show that the majority of those serving Life Without Parole have become more calm and mature with age and time. Many have shown the ability to hold a steady job for years, handle any situation responsibly, and become productive members of society if given the meaningful opportunity to do so. Their  chances of reoffending are slim to none. The success in society of the juveniles who had previously been sentenced to Life Without Parole attests to this.

I've continued to search for the truth as to why I was removed from my job as a medical hospice porter. Is it because I, in addition to caring for the inmate patients, I tried to keep others from taking advantage of these men. I'll never forget a quote I saw hanging on the prison wall. "Stand for what's right - Even If you're standing along." Oh Jesus! All the possibilities of what my life could have been. But now 24 years later at 45 years old; I'm beginning to feel BROKEN!

I strongly believe that a difference can be made through those who have the ability to create new laws and rulings in favor of giving a second chance to individuals in prison with lengthy sentences who have shown that they are rehabilitated. We can't change the past, nor can we bring Limbo back or any of those who have given up and made the decision to take their own lives. However, an opportunity can be given to those who truly deserve it because there are many who are doing all they can to become better versions of themselves than they once were. Despite what the sign above the entrance to "The Walls" said, there are those of us that still dream of one day soon having the privilege of being able to say: We now have life with ... hope.

I only have one question for the person who's reading this story.

What could I, and the other inmates like me, have done different to be...

"WORTH FIGHTING FOR?"

May God bless the families and watch over the souls of all those who ended their own lives because they gave up on ever seeing freedom again.