Short Stories by Steve Champion
(SAN QUENTIN DEATH ROW PRISONER)
WHEN ALL IS SAID AND DONE
He was dead.
Johnny was really dead.
I'd stayed up all night
with my ear glued to the radio to see if Johnny would get a stay of execution.
But shortly after midnight
KPFA announced that the Puerto Rico national, Johhny Torres, was executed
by lethal injection at 12:13 in San Quentin's death chamber. "Damn," I
whispered as the finality sunk in. Johnny hadn't even been on the
row seven years. It was hard to believe he was gone.
I first met Johnny back
in the winter of 92. He was only 24 years old but looked older,
as if he'd seen a lot. He stood quietly in a corner of the exercise
yard, hands shoved deep in his pockets with a bewildered look plastered
to his face. I knew that look. It was
the same look everybody wears when they first get to the row.
He was short and stocky, and wore his jet black curly hair in a small afro.
His dark brown skin had a shine to it and he resembled your average brother
from South Central or Harlem. It was only when he spoke that
he revealed his Caribbean origins.
A heavy Spanish accent
that poured from his mouth like thick molasses.
It was freezing he day
we met. I'd went to the exercise yard for some fresh air. TC, my
road dog came over to greet me. We embraced and bumped fists like
we always did.
"Word up bro ?" He says
with a squirky smile on his face.
"Same old thang. Just
another rotten day in hell." I told him.
"Check the new dude in
the back." TC said, nodding his head towards Johnny.
"I see him."
Johnny was standing there
shifting his weight from side to side, trying to dodge the freezing cold.
The scanty state issue cloths he wore was no match for the icy wind that
penetrated his Skin.
"Want me to get at hint?"
TC said with- a grin.
"Nah," I said,
waving TC off. "T'll get at him myself when they finish running yard."
The last thing I wanted
was TC to get at him. Even though he's a good brother and my road dog talking
to people wasn't one of his strong points. He had one of those earth
vader voices that scared the hell outta people when be spoke to them.
I can't count the times I had to intervene and stop hint from hammering
some guy's head in because he felt be was being diseed.
I had. plenty of talks with him about his temper and asked why he trip
so hard on people.
"Coe, they're busters,"
he would say with a disgusted look on his face. "I can't stand busters.
Look at those busters over there," We would point to a group
of guys huddled in a corner of the yard acting hire they were at some kind
of summer camp. "Most of these dudes shouldn't even be on the yard
with us."
As much as I wanted to
disagree with him I couldn't. A lot of the people on death row walked around
like they were serving juvenile time or lived in some quantum reality.
"But that's still no
reason to trip," I said.
You know we got a bigger
agenda that doesn't include these dudes so you shouldn't let their presence
take you out of character."
"Fuck these dudes,"
he said. "I ain't showin' respect to no Buster."
I threw up my hands in
disappointment and started to walk away, but TC grabbed me
by the arm saying "come back bere Coe! " I turned around and saw
that comical grin on his face.
All I could do was shake
my head and smile. TC had this way of agitating me where I would
say "fuck it", and then he would say: " Gotcha".
He told me "if you weren't here Coe I would've digged out one of these
busters long ago. I'm only here cuz you here," be used to say.
If you get rolled up for something, I'm gone." - I believed him.
At times
it seemed that I was dealing with two completely
different people; sometimes TC would act like a time bomb just waiting.
to explode, and other times he would convey and drive on a point
with so much insight and clarity I would take a step back in complete
awe.
I used to look at him
and wonder how his life would have turned out had he not ended up in prison.
One time I made a Freudian slip and blurted out, "Man
you're complex brotha"
TC looked at me like
I'd lost my mind. I would joke with him. about his huge hands and
the part The wore on the side if his afro, looking
like brotha who just stepped outta the sixties. He got a kick out of that
and claimed only I could clown him like that.
Then the guards finished
running yard, dude started ambling out the basketball court.
I wasn't in the mood
to shoot that day.
"If you need me I'll
be at the card table," TC said. "I'ma trim these busters for
a grip today." We bumped fists and he left.
I opened up the yellow
envelope I'd brought with me to the yard and took out the book. Sitting
at table I began to read a passage about the the true essence of man and
what is divinity. As I was getting comfortable I instinctively looked
behind me and saw Johnny standing in the same spot still shifting on his
feet. I wondered how long was be going to do that, the whole yard, I thought
if somebody didn't take his mind off the cold.
I put the literature
back in the envelope, and walked over to Johnny. The closer I came
towards him the more the expression on his face changed. He slowly removed
his hands from his pockets and stood poised like a soldier anticipating
battle. I got within arm distance and extended my hand.
"My name is Coe,"
I saiad. He glanced at my hand, then my face, as if he were surveying an
iffy situation and asking himself was it dangerous. Then he smiled a little
and took my hand.
"My name is Johnny Torres,"
he said, and he became the first prisoner Ir met who introduced himself
using his full name.
"Where you from?"
I asked, noticing the accent.
"Puerto rico, he responded
with pride."
"You got busted in Puerto
Rico?"
"No, no, Johnny quickly
said, shaking his head and grinning. "I'm from Puerto Rico. I got
busted in Orange County."
"Klan County, you mean.
He nodded his head in
agreernent.
I asked Johnny did he
have anyone looking out for him and he told me the only
family he's in contact with lives in Puerto Rico. I got his
cell number and told him I was going to send him a few items he could
use. He thanked me, then I told him I would kick it with him before the
end of the yard. I looked over at the card table and TC was still
there. It wasn't many people on the yard because of the cold
weather. I needed to knock the chill down so I started
jogging around the yard to warm up. The next thing I knew Johnny
was running along side me, "You like running?" He asked "Yeah," I said,
"When its cold." We both laughed.'
TC got a full reversal
in early 93 and ended up getting life in prison with the possibility of
parole. After his departure Johnny and I grew closer. He was
very mature compared to most people his age on the row. He enjoyed discussing
and debating politics and history. He told me members of his family
belonged to the "Puerto Rican National Movement." which was fighting for
Puerto Rico's independance. Although he wasan't a member he supported
the group and attended some oftheir meetings. He said during the
trial the DA swore he was a memebr of a subversive group and had documents
from the Peurto Rican government claiming that he was which the DA intriduced
as evidence.
"Did your lawyer ohject?"
I asked.
"That durnptruck
didn't say anything" Johnny said. "He barely
spoke a word to me throughout the entire trial, treated
me like I was on trial for assaulting one of his relatives.
"Did you say something
to the Judge about that?"
"What was I suppose
to say. I don't know the laws of this country, I'm not even a citizen
here."
"How long did you fight
your case?"
"Close to seven months."
"Seven months!"
I said. With a horrified look on my face.
"Yep!" "I got arrested,
convicted, and sentence within seven months."
It was obvious that Johnny
got a raw daeala. His Attorney never hired an investogator and only
visited twice while he was in the county jail. I wasan't shocked
by what he told me because I have heard similar stories before. I
told him he'll probably get some appeal action. But I knew the egregarious
track record of the courts was so unpredictable that to determine how they
would rule on any one case was like taking your chances at a crap table.
Johnny was no
fan of the United States. With all of the things
that happen to him I didn't blame him.
"I came here to get away
from trouble," he said. "Now they're trying to kill me. I shouldn't
have came here," he said regretfully.
"Why did you come?"
I asked. Trying not to sound too inquisitive.
"I got caught up in some
crazy shit at home" he said. "I was on the run.
I called my cousin and he sent me a plane ticket. So here I am."
"How did you end up in
Orange County?"
"My cousin lives there;"
"In the heart of all
those rednecks." I said.
"Yep!"
Johnny was visibly
upset whenever he reflected on his situation. He told me on several
occasions be didn't commit the crimes they accused him of. But being on
death row you hear a lot of people say they're innocent. You learn
to listen without judgement and hope you don't becoine the latest target
they seek out to vent on.
One day Johnny walked
up to me on the yard. His face was lit up like someone had just told
him he won the local lottery.
"Coe, I need to talk
to you."
"What's up'" I
said.
"They appointed
me an Attorney."
"Already." I said
with a puzzling look on my face.
Johnny saw the expression
on my face and seemed baffled.
"What's wrong Coe?"he
asked innocently.
"I'm tripping on how
quick they appointed you an Attorney."
"I been here almost two
years." he said awkwardly.
"I know people that been
on the row four and five years and still don't have Attorneys."
"Maybe I'm lucky."
"Maybe you are."
I said, notwvanting to dampen his spirits. "I hope you don't let
them rush your case. You already got crossed once. Don't
let it happen again."
"I won't, Coe, I won't."
be said confidently.
The more I got to know
Johnny I couldn't shake this nagging feeling that he was moving too fast
everything from his trial and appointment of an Attorney irritated me.
It was like his life was proceeding on a ineluctable course and had no
way of altering or stopping it.
When his case got affirmed
in the California Supreme Court, I told him;
"Everybody gets shot
down at the state level. Your action will come when you get to the Federal
Courts."
But time and time again
the courts turned down Johnny's appeals. What he'd considered as
good issues was ruled as harmless errors. It was a eery
feeling to watch the hope slither away from someone I'd grown close to.
"I'm standing on my last
leg." Johnny said.
"Wait a minute, you gotta
stay strong." I said.
"Its not like that Coe.
I'm outta issues."
"What about when they
violated your rights by neglecting to tell you that you had a right
to talk to the Consulant at the Puerto Rico's Embassy?" I said.
"My Attorney is pursuing
that issue now, but I doubt it will work."
"Why not?" I responded,
as if I was trying to will Johnny to keep fighting.
Johnny looked me in the
eyes and smiled. The same wide smile he had when we first met.
"How many times have
we talked about Puerto Rico?" he said. As if he was about to lecture
me.
"Alot." I said.
"We both know that Puerto
Rico was invaded in 1899 by America and the U.S. Navy been there since
1941. I don't have any leverage." Johnny said.
"I know, but --"
"Wait," he said.
Motioning with his hands that he wasn't finish. "My country wants
to be the fifty first state of the USA. They aren't going to do anything
to buck Arnerica. Maybe if I was French I might have action since
France opposes the death penalty."
"You still can't give
up." I urged him
"I'm not giving up."
Johnny said strongly."I'm facing the facts."
I knew what be said was
true. The handwriting was clear. But when someone is drowning you
don't stop to ask them how they got into the water before you attempt to
rescue thern first. I wanted to rescue Johnny but I didn't know how.
He had reconciled himself to his fate. There was a calmness
in his mannerisms like he knew his destiny and there was nothing to fear.
He adaamantly refused to file for clemency hecause he said, "you
don't look for justice where there is none."
In November of 98
right before he got transferred to deathwatch he told me, " Thanks. "
"For what?" I asked him.
He grabbed my hand like
he wanted me to absorb all of his energy and strength, as if I was gonna
need a piece of his life force to face whatever was acoming.
"For being my compadare."
he said with a shamanistic expression on his ace.
"Thats a two way street."
I told him.
Empty of anything else
to say and not wanting to disrupt the sombre mood that wasahed over us
we simply became silent reflecting on our own thoughts. It would
be the last time we spoke to each other.
That morning I sat on
the edge of my bunk trying to gain some control over the billion thoughts
racing in my head like tiny meteroites shooting through the night sky.
I felt deflated, dazed, as if someone had
acame along and strangled me
for a few minutes and left me gasping for air. The anxiety I was
feeling gripped me like razor sharp talons as aI reread amy own death warrant
for the thousandth time. The crisp government paper was now wrinkled
by sweat from my hands. My execution date would be exactly two months
after Johnny's. I let it fall from my fingers, watching it float
back and forth before hitting the floor without a sound. Then I began
to think about Johnny again, and all the others who would come after us,
he was right, don't look for justice where there is none.
Write Adisa Akanni Kamara (Steve Champion) Directly at:
Steve Champion C-58001 4-E-63
San Quentin State Prison
San Quentin, CA. 94974
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