Officer Wilson

My detention began during the height of President Reagan’s War on Drugs. Charged with leading an enterprise that distributed cocaine, jailers in the detention center kept me in solitary confinement. Spending extended time in that small, isolating cell led me to interact with the officers who managed the unit. Among them, I remember Officer Wilson.

Decades have passed since I was held in that solitary cell. For that reason, I know little about Officer Wilson beyond his name. Yet he had a profound impact on my adjustment through prison and on my life. After the jury convicted me, he brought me books—books that would change how I think.

One of the first books Officer Wilson gave me was The Autobiography of Frederick Douglass. For those unfamiliar with Douglass’s story, he was born into slavery and endured its brutal realities until he escaped at the age of 20. Despite his unimaginable hardships, Douglass made a commitment to personal development. He taught himself to read and write, skills that enabled him to communicate the indignities and injustices of slavery. Through his words, he became one of the most influential figures in the abolitionist movement, despite never holding public office.

Frederick Douglass inspired me deeply. His journey helped me believe that I, too, could create a life of meaning and relevance. Even if I were to spend decades in prison, I could use my time to learn, to grow, and to prepare for a better future.

Officer Wilson brought me many other books, including Plato’s Republic. The story of Socrates in the dialogue Crito captivated me. In that era, laws prohibited the upper classes from educating the lower classes. Socrates, despite his position of privilege, believed that knowledge should be accessible to everyone. He devoted his life to teaching and challenging the status quo.

When authorities arrested Socrates, he was tried and sentenced to death. While awaiting execution, his friend Crito visited him with an escape plan that would allow Socrates to live in exile. Socrates, however, chose to remain and accept his punishment. His reasoning? He believed in the principles of democracy: while one could work to change unjust laws, one did not have the right to break them. He saw dignity in taking responsibility for his actions, even when faced with death.

Socrates’s story profoundly influenced me. Unlike Socrates, I wasn’t imprisoned for a noble cause. Yet his commitment to principle and dignity forced me to reflect on my own life. I began asking myself Socratic questions:

• Is there anything I can do while I’m in here to make people see me as something other than a person who sold cocaine?

My answer was yes.

This led to another question:

• What would they expect me to do?

As I lay on the rack in that solitary cell, staring at the ceiling, I began crafting my plan. Those questions shifted my focus away from self-pity and toward reconciliation. They formed the foundation of my three-pronged strategy:

1. Educate Myself: I committed to learning, demonstrating that I no longer wanted to be defined by my criminal past.
2. Contribute to Society: I sought ways to give back in meaningful and measurable ways.
3. Build a Support Network: I recognized the importance of forming relationships with people who could help me succeed.

This three-pronged plan became my compass, guiding me through the 9,500 days I lived in prison. It helped me align my dail actions with my long-term goals. That plan helped me believe that I could atone, and hopefully, prove worthy of the support my family extended.

Had it not been for Officer Wilson, I might never have discovered these lessons. His small act of bringing me books sparked a transformation that set the course for my journey through incarceration and beyond. The lessons he introduced to me—through the stories of Frederick Douglass, Socrates, and others—continue to shape the principles I teach through Prison Professors today.

‍