Be still and know

Alexander Weatherspoon

Be Still and Know

“Until the lion writes his own story, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.”

The Soy Autor writing process was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2016, this innovative program launched at Cook County Jail with young men awaiting trial for violent offenses. Through the process of drafting, revising, illustrating and publishing memoirs, the Authors’ Circle develops reflection, critical thinking, literacy skills, conflict resolution and positive self-projection.

In collaboration with:

Cook County Sheriff’s Office

Be Still and know Alexander Weatherspoon

Why should I give up the streets when the streets is all I know?

I never had a mother or father taking care of me so did I have any other choice?

Here I was, paroled to A Safe Haven Shelter. It was the

year 2012 when I first got out of prison after doing eight

straight years. I was 26-years-old with no place to go, no job, no money, no kids, no family that cared, except my Great Auntie Flora and my Auntie Linda.

But I was finally free!

I kissed the ground and promised myself that I would never go back to jail. I would rather be in a casket, dead.

A Safe Haven is on the Westside of Chicago. When I first

arrived at the shelter I hated it. There were too many strict rules to follow. I was assigned a case manager and the

dude had the nerve to tell me that, for the first 30 days, I

couldn’t go anywhere, I had to drug test randomly, couldn’t interact in sexual activities with none of the women at the shelter, had to share a room with two other dudes, only family could come visit me the first 30 days, I couldn’t drink, and the lists goes on and on.

The first thought I had was, this sounds like a ticket back to jail. Why should I have to subject to lock-down rules when I’m supposed to be free? Not to mention I already paid my debts to society by doing eight straight years.

Besides the rules, the shelter was clean and large, with three floors, a big kitchen, GED classes, parenting classes, alcohol groups, domestic violence groups, and there were women walking all around the place. Lucky me!

The only thing that I was concerned about at that time was a woman and getting some type of income. I really never thought too much about my family, except my Great Aunt Flora and my Aunt Linda.

They were the only ones holding me down while I was in prison. They were the only ones keeping me strong and kept me having faith that one day, my time would come.

Lord only knows how much I really needed my Great Aunt Flora and Aunt Linda, especially during those two years that I’d spent at Pontiac.

Being behind the walls at Pontiac practically drove me crazy. Several nights I contemplated killing myself.

Smelling feces and urine, hearing inmates scream like wild animals being wounded. Made me feel like the sun would never shine on me again.

The guards didn’t care about you at all. They didn’t care

if you lived or died in Pontiac. Like I was the scum of the

universe. Not even human. I still feel vengeful and hateful from those guards mistreating me. And the people who

didn’t bother to send me a letter, a card, money, or visit me.

I sometimes feel like a hole is burning through my soul.

I remember the showers being set on a timer of five

minutes. The shower would cut off on you automatically.

If you refused to leave the shower, the guards would mace you, then get the water hose and hose you down with

ice cold water for 60 seconds. The water pressure was so

powerful that it blew me to the wall, took the wind out of me and pulled the skin off my body. We use to call it ho’s

down. After that, the guards would drag you back to your cell and slam the cell bars. Ain’t that some shit?

I never understood how a person can have such a cruel heart toward another human being.

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Me myself, I had to do two years. Being in a cell 24 hours a day, showering once a week, using the phone once a week, people throwing feces and urine on you.

Made me feel torn apart inside.

I couldn’t have a TV, fan or radio in my cell until I was on good behavior for four months. No exceptions! I remember it being so hot in my cell that I put a dry towel in the toilet because the faucet was broken. I laid on the bare floor of my cell and put that wet towel over my whole body. But within seven-10 minutes, the towel was completely dry. And you know toilet water is the coldest water! It was so hot and sticky in that cell, felt like the stove was on.

When I was in A Safe Haven shelter, I thought of those hard times I’d had while on lock. I had to get myself together and fast. Life has its ups and downs, but I was tired of the downs. Why do you think people go to the streets?

At the age of five, I was took away from my mother. She had left me in the house for two days with no food to eat, to go chase a high. I called the police myself, not knowing any better, hoping that they would go find my mother and bring her back home. The police thought that it was a prank call, but I insisted, so the police came to the house and took me to the police station. They called my daddy’s sister Sherry and she took me in because I had no other place to go.

I moved from my Aunt Sherry’s house when I was eight years old and moved in with my great Auntie Flora and her husband Isaiah. They were the nicest people in the world.

Everything that I wanted, they gave me. The only thing they both requested was that I stay in school.

They told me I never had to worry about anything living with them,

that they’d never leave my side,

and I’d never have to hurt again.

My mother and father

started coming back into my life. The calls, visits

and different conversations led me into wanting to live back with my mother or

father, even though Aun-

tie Flora told me that they were both sick from using drugs. I started acting up, stealing, running away,

talking back, and the list goes on.

I went back to staying with my Mother, but she kicked

me out for a man. He didn’t approve of me not

calling him Daddy, of me

not knowing how to read, write or spell, or of the

things other people said about me in the neighborhood.

I had to sleep in abandoned buildings, cars, port-a-potties, pay crack heads to sleep in their house. I sold drugs to get money for a place to lay my head at night and food to eat. I was just a kid.

That’s the mindset that I had in A Safe Haven. I was

carrying all that history with me. The staff working there

was no more than a prison guard in my eyes. I had to wake up at 7:30 am to go to an alcohol abuse group and hell,

I didn’t even drink. I was tired of not having any clothes,

money and sharing a room with two dudes that looked like zombies. I had to work in the shelter kitchen with no pay.

I wanted to be completely free like a bird. I didn’t want to be on other people’s time or having anyone give me rules and regulations.

Being in the shelter made me think that I should take a chance selling drugs, because I’m eventually going to get tired of being broke and bummy, and probably end up robbing something or someone.

I ended up leaving the shelter and started back selling drugs. Three years later, I ended up getting locked back up facing 31 years to life for a crime I did not commit.

If I could do things differently, I would’ve stayed in the shelter and worked the program. I realize that with

everything that happened in my life, I have have chances.

The thing is, when you grow up like I did, and experience

what I have, sometimes it feels like there’s no choices. But from where I sit now, I realize that there are.

I am Alexander Weatherspoon.

I am from the bittersweet land of Chicago.

From sour fruit and the sweetness of potato pie.

I am from the rough neighborhood of Englewood.

The rich, the middle class and the poor.

I am from the flower that grows from the dirt of the earth’s soil.

I’m from a dysfunctional family. Always gossiping and fighting.

From a mother named Brenda. The Johnsons.

From neighbors who took me on adventures and aunties who loved me to death.

From “Boy, you better pay attention” and “Booney—Do the right thing!”

I’m from the Black of the Berry and the Sweeter the Juice.

From Chicago to Georgia, where we love seasoned fried chicken and collard greens.

I’m from a loving Aunt Flora and Aunt Linda who both worked very hard their entire lives. A mother that loved me but made mistakes. A clock on my Aunt Flora’s dresser that symbolizes my Aunt Flora’s time on this earth with me.