One of my readers died yesterday. His name was Carlton Brookshire. He keeled over with a massive heart attack at 6:30 am as he was sitting in a chair at Medical waiting to get his medications refilled. He was 63 years old.
Mr. B, as he was known back here, had been in prison for the last 21 years, and was due to be released in less than 24 months. He was serving a 30 year sentence for bank robbery. He was a Vietnam veteran who contracted Agent Orange when he was stationed in Southeast Asia back in the seventies. Subsequently, had medical issues as a result of this. Mr. B was socially introverted, and only left his cell to go to the chow hall or to Medical when he had an appointment. Otherwise, he stayed in his cell. This is not an uncommon trait for people who have done a lot of time. After living so many years in an environment of negativity and hatred, it becomes easy to transform a small, sterile, ugly, concrete cell into a sanctuary. Because this sanctuary offers two commodities that are hard to find in prison: Silence and privacy.
Mr. B's main social interaction was that he sewed for people. This was his hustle, and if you had a shirt that needed mending, or a pillow that needed to be sown because it had ripped open and the stuffing was coming out, Mr. B was the man to see. While I was in transit on my way here from California and my property was being stored in various BOP warehouses across the United States, mice made their way into my duffel bags and chewed a hole in my sweatpants. I brought them to Mr. B and he sewed a patch on them, and only charged me three Ramen noodle soups to do it...which is .90 cents. A new pair of sweatpants is $20.00, so I was grateful for the money he saved me. This was how I met him.
When he brought the sweats back to my cell, he saw the bulletin board above my locker where I have color slicks of my website posted. I also post different blogs on the bulletin so people who are visiting my cell can read them. Mr. B stood there and read a blog I recently did called TO THE MOON AND BACK about a special little boy in Tennessee who lost his dad. After he read the blog, he took off his glasses and hung his head as he composed himself...and wiped the tears from his eyes. After a lengthy conversation about life and prison, and about writing, I went into my locker and pulled out the large manila envelope where I keep copies of previously published blogs. I sent him back to his house with three blogs, and this became a nightly ritual where he'd bring the blogs back that I'd given him, then pick up a few more. On the night before he died, when he brought the blogs back, he thanked me, and he told me that my writing made him laugh and cry, and that I articulated feelings that he had inside of him that he didn't know how to express. It was the single nicest compliment that I have received since becoming a writer.
One of the other things that we I talked about that night was music. People in prison listen to music an inordinate amount of their day. He liked country music, and one of his favorite singers was Vince Gill. There's a song by him called GO REST HIGH ON THAT MOUNTAIN. The opening stanza of the song is:
I know your life on earth was troubled
Only you could know the pain
You weren't afraid to face the devil
You were no stranger to the rain
As I write this blog, this song is playing through my ear buds, and although it's a sad song, and a song about death, I don't feel sad right now for Mr. B.
Death for a prisoner has a facet that you people who are reading this blog in the free world will never be able to truly feel. Death for a prisoner is a double-edged sword. Carlton Brookshire was at the tail end of paying his debt to society and like all of us back here, he was waiting to be free. But at 6:30 am on October 16, 2014, that debt was paid in full and he was released; released not only from the negative and violent realm of prison where he'd lived for the last 21 years, but he was also released from the judgments and labels that the world had placed on him.
On October 16, 2014, Mr. B was truly free at last. I don't know where he is right now, but I pray that he's at peace and that he's with his family and friends. I wish him well on his journey. Go rest high on that mountain Mr. B. Your work on earth is done.
Mr. B, as he was known back here, had been in prison for the last 21 years, and was due to be released in less than 24 months. He was serving a 30 year sentence for bank robbery. He was a Vietnam veteran who contracted Agent Orange when he was stationed in Southeast Asia back in the seventies. Subsequently, had medical issues as a result of this. Mr. B was socially introverted, and only left his cell to go to the chow hall or to Medical when he had an appointment. Otherwise, he stayed in his cell. This is not an uncommon trait for people who have done a lot of time. After living so many years in an environment of negativity and hatred, it becomes easy to transform a small, sterile, ugly, concrete cell into a sanctuary. Because this sanctuary offers two commodities that are hard to find in prison: Silence and privacy.
Mr. B's main social interaction was that he sewed for people. This was his hustle, and if you had a shirt that needed mending, or a pillow that needed to be sown because it had ripped open and the stuffing was coming out, Mr. B was the man to see. While I was in transit on my way here from California and my property was being stored in various BOP warehouses across the United States, mice made their way into my duffel bags and chewed a hole in my sweatpants. I brought them to Mr. B and he sewed a patch on them, and only charged me three Ramen noodle soups to do it...which is .90 cents. A new pair of sweatpants is $20.00, so I was grateful for the money he saved me. This was how I met him.
When he brought the sweats back to my cell, he saw the bulletin board above my locker where I have color slicks of my website posted. I also post different blogs on the bulletin so people who are visiting my cell can read them. Mr. B stood there and read a blog I recently did called TO THE MOON AND BACK about a special little boy in Tennessee who lost his dad. After he read the blog, he took off his glasses and hung his head as he composed himself...and wiped the tears from his eyes. After a lengthy conversation about life and prison, and about writing, I went into my locker and pulled out the large manila envelope where I keep copies of previously published blogs. I sent him back to his house with three blogs, and this became a nightly ritual where he'd bring the blogs back that I'd given him, then pick up a few more. On the night before he died, when he brought the blogs back, he thanked me, and he told me that my writing made him laugh and cry, and that I articulated feelings that he had inside of him that he didn't know how to express. It was the single nicest compliment that I have received since becoming a writer.
One of the other things that we I talked about that night was music. People in prison listen to music an inordinate amount of their day. He liked country music, and one of his favorite singers was Vince Gill. There's a song by him called GO REST HIGH ON THAT MOUNTAIN. The opening stanza of the song is:
I know your life on earth was troubled
Only you could know the pain
You weren't afraid to face the devil
You were no stranger to the rain
As I write this blog, this song is playing through my ear buds, and although it's a sad song, and a song about death, I don't feel sad right now for Mr. B.
Death for a prisoner has a facet that you people who are reading this blog in the free world will never be able to truly feel. Death for a prisoner is a double-edged sword. Carlton Brookshire was at the tail end of paying his debt to society and like all of us back here, he was waiting to be free. But at 6:30 am on October 16, 2014, that debt was paid in full and he was released; released not only from the negative and violent realm of prison where he'd lived for the last 21 years, but he was also released from the judgments and labels that the world had placed on him.
On October 16, 2014, Mr. B was truly free at last. I don't know where he is right now, but I pray that he's at peace and that he's with his family and friends. I wish him well on his journey. Go rest high on that mountain Mr. B. Your work on earth is done.