I'll never forget my first trip to San Quentin State Prison.  I was seventeen years
old.  My mother and I were going to visit my older brother Carl, who was on Death Row.  I hadn't been to visit Carl any since the duration of his incarceration, which had been seven years.  Carl had always told my mother to bring me with her to visit my brother, I had always looked up to my older brother, he had always been there for me.  He bought me things, took me to basketball and football games, cooked meals for me after school when my mother had to work overtime, and took care of me.  There was only the three of us, and we were all the family we had.  My father and mother divorced when I was three years old.  I knew very little about my father, I hadn't seen my father in over thirteen years, the only role model I had for a father was my brother Carl, even though we were only twelve years apart.

I went through a lot emotionally when Carl got arrested I couldn't eat or sleep too much, people were telling me my brother was going to be executed in San Quentin's gas chamber.  The pain was so great that I tried to solve the problem by taking twenty three codeine pills the doctor had given my mother for her back pains.  I guess I was blessed that my mother found me on the bathroom floor unconscious.  I was rushed to the hospital by ambulance, where they pumped my stomach and saved my life.  Because of my attempt to commit suicide, my mother had me go talk to a psychiatrist one day a week for six months.  They were trying to help me deal with the situation of the State of California attempts to execute my brother.

I tried to put up a protective shield around my feelings and emotions so it wouldn't affect me so much if the state did kill my brother.    That's why I avoided going to visit Carl, and didn't respond to the letters he wrote me.  I only spoke to him on the telephone because my mother insisted with authority that I speak to my brother.  My mother told me that Carl needs us, and that he felt I hated him, that's why I avoided him.

I didn't hate Carl, the truth of the matter was, I didn't want to face the fact that my brothers life hung in the balance, and it was easier for me not to face reality.

As we traveled along the freeway towards San Quentin my heart was pounding and pumping fast as my mother drove across the Richmond / San Rafael bridge.  Once we got across the bridge I could see San Quentin.  I had drove past other prisons on my way to basketball games, and saw them on television.  But never San Quentin.  San Quentin was unlike the others in that its so old.  Other prisons looked like concrete blocks struck out in the middle of nowhere, and San Quentin is surrounded by the bay.  Its a very sharp contradiction to see all the natural beauty of the bay.  Its surrounding a dungeon.  The outside of San Quentin doesn't look as harsh as the other prisons I've seen, or the rumors about what goes on inside of the black side of San Quentin.  The building looked like it could be a school or college if the fences, barbed wire, and bars were not in view.

I had watched on television a few days before a lawyer giving an interview about another death row prisoner by the name of "Tony Thompson".  I listened carefully to the facts of his case,  and came to my own conclusion that there was a reasonable doubt that "Tony Thompson" was the wrong guy on death row. I wondered would the state and politicians be so thirsty for blood and vengeance, or to move higher up in politics that they would execute a man without being a hundred percent sure they have the right person for the crime.  "Has our human nature reverted back to mob justice such as when pirates made people walk the plank or stone them with  rocks?"  All these visions invaded my mind as we stood in line waiting to visit my brother.
I looked at all the guards, some wore angry masks on their faces, some smiled gently to the visitors, and some had no expression at all.  I wondered "which of these guards will be the one to kill my brother, if it came down to Carl being executed?"  This really disturbed me to the point that I almost wanted to wait out the visit sitting in the car.  But I rejected the thought as quickly as it came.  I knew I had to face my fears and see my brother, and let him know I loved him.

The guards made us empty our pockets to make sure we didn't have any contraband.  Then we walked through a metal detector.  My mother had told me that morning that there was a dress code, and I couldn't wear blue or black jeans, beige, brown, green or orange in visiting.  I wore burgundy corduroy pants with a gray and burgundy sweater with some gray balleys shoes.

The visiting room was already crowded with visitors and prisoners, it wasn't like I thought it would be.  I thought it would be harsh and scary, instead I found just the opposite.

People were smiling, happy to see their loved ones.  Small children were running around playing.  It was hard to believe that every prisoner in the visiting room was accused of murder, or murders.

My mother and I got three chairs in the back of the visiting room towards the restrooms.  There was five vending machines on the right side of the visiting room. We were allowed to bring up to thirty dollars apiece in the visiting room. No bills larger than a five dollar bill.  My mother had three ten dollar rolls of quarters in a plastic see through purse.

We went over to the vendor machines to get some food for us all to eat.  There were two microwave ovens in the visiting room to warm up our food.  We got four cheese burgers, three boxes of chicken with corn and a roll, three burritos, potato chips, candy bars, popcorn and sodas.  My mother knew all the foods which Carl liked to eat on visits.

It was a thirty minute delay before Carl came into the visiting room dressed in his prison blues.  We were on the opposite side of the room and he didn't see us at first until my mother stood up from her chair.  A big smile came across Carl's face, as he walked to the front of the visiting room check in booth.

My heart was pounding.  I wanted to cry but I knew I had to be strong and show Carl that I was a young man.

Carl looked different to me, he was a lot taller and more muscular than when I last saw him.  He wore glasses now, and his head was clean shaven and shining like a light bulb.

My mother continued standing until Carl came over to us smiling.  I sat in my seat still afraid to move.  Carl hugged our mother and kissed her on the cheek, then he looked over to me, we locked eyes, silence communicating between us, without saying anything to one another.  Carl broke the silence between us saying, " Come give your brother a hug Kevin."  I got up from my chair to hug Carl, I was almost as tall as him, I was only a few inches shorter.

As I hugged my brother, all the pain and misery I'd suffered bubbled up, emotionally filling me with regret and remorse for not visiting him sooner.  I squeezed him tightly as he did the same in return.  We held each other tightly.  I told Carl how I missed him being around for me to talk to and that I loved him dearly.

Carl got emotional too.  As we broke our embrace I looked at him closely.  There was a distinguishing look in his eyes.  His eyes no longer shined as brightly as they used to, long ago.  They now had the look of a hurt old man or an animal in a trap.  Those once light brown eyes were now tainted with a gray ring surrounding the pupil.  I knew it was from the stress of being on "Death Row."

We sat down with my mother who was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.  She had gotten emotional too watching Carl and I embrace each other.  Her deed was done, she had been asking me to go with her on previous visits.  I'm sure she was happy to see her sons showing love for each other, and that she was able to bring us together again, her prayers had been answered and she was blessed enough to watch it happen with her own eyes.  Not every mother visiting an incarcerated son can claim that.

I started telling Carl  about school and being on the Fremont High school varsity basketball team, my girlfriend Tahirah, and my part time job at the Oakland airport.

Carl told me to keep up the good work and strive hard for my goals.  He wanted to see me turn professional in basketball.  I told Carl I was working hard to make all my dreams reality.  So I could get him some good lawyers.

I was really enjoying the visit, even though Carl was on death row he had so much to offer me and society.  He gave me good advice always.  He stressed to me that he didn't want me getting into trouble or being in jail like him.  Our mother already had one of her two sons in prison and she didn't need any more heartache for me following into his footsteps.

We ate the food laughing and talking, my mother, Carl and myself played dominos, then we took some photos with the photo tickets Carl had bought from the prison canteen.   We took three pictures with all of us together and Carl and I took one without our mother.  We were only allowed to take four pictures.  As we finished the photo session, the guy I had seen on television a few days before, "Tony Thompson," came into the visiting room.  He spoke to Carl as he passed us going over to the check in booth.  I saw the same look in his eyes that I had seen in my brothers eyes, "desperation and fear !"

I looked at the other prisoners who were smiling and laughing with their visitors and loved ones.  They all had the same look in their eyes.

Before the visit ended, I asked Carl "what's it like being on death row," He paused for a moment carefully considering his next words to me.

Then he said, "Kevin, no words  could ever truly explain what its like being held captive on death row.  Waiting to be executed, but try and picture this in your mind, "  Carl shifted his body from side to side as if he was nervous or had to use the rest room.  His voice got deeper and his eyes filled with anger.

"Visualize how a fish feels caught in a fisherman's net, or a bull smelling the drench smell of blood at a slaughterhouse.  Can you imagine the panic and fear that runs through their bodies and minds.  Knowing that death awaits them ?  Just the thought and emotions can be so overwhelming that in some cases they will die from fright before they reach the executing chamber and these are animals.

Now try to imagine how a death row prisoner feels in that same position.  Imagine the lonely times when he has to think about the possibility that he could be executed today or tomorrow.  I have never pictured myself being executed by the state, even though its their purpose for having me in San Quentin.  The mental thought of this is too much too bear.  I tend to block it out as waiting to be executed and motivate myself with finding solutions to live.

Kevin, I'm not afraid of death because its the process of life, we are all born to die but I don't want to be executed like a bull in a slaughterhouse.

The main thing that scares me about death row is losing my sanity in the long wait for my appeal to be heard.  The death penalty is far much more harsher than the media portrays it to be.  The media portrays it like death row prisoners live better than people in society, and have more rights, television and radios in our cells etc.  But this waiting process takes its toll on a prisoner mentally, physically, and spiritually.  You notice I don't have my hair anymore and wear glasses now ?  That's not by choice, my hair fell out and my vision got poor from stressing.

I have witnessed normal men of stable mind go drastically crazy overnight.  These are men who once had families, jobs, careers, and some had college degrees.

Death Row executes some prisoners mentally by the day.  These men start off talking to themselves and gradually graduate to insanity.  At that point they start to sleep all day and stay up at night banging on their cell bars and sink.  They stop taking care of their hygiene, they urinate on themselves like children, smear feces on their bodies and the cell walls, some even draw pictures on the wall with feces.  They throw trash all over their cells.  Breakfast, lunch and dinner trash.  The thought of an execution date is that strong."

That's what scares me, but as I said "words could never truly explain what its like being on death row."  Is this justice or a crime of torture ?  I feel losing my sanity on death row is far more worse than actually being strapped down to a chair or table.

I told Carl things would be allright, but neither of us knew how things would turn out for sure on my brothers appeal.  The courts were so filled up with Conservative republican judges that  even when the courts knew they unfairly convicted a person, the judges rule major court misconduct as a harmless error.

I hugged Carl as the visit was terminated and told him I would be back to see him soon whenever our mother came back to visit him.

Carl told me to keep up the good work and take care of our mother for him as he exited the door he had came in at the beginning of the visit.  I was happy I visited my brother.  He needed my moral support and love to help him maintain his sanity in the midst of this storm.  I had also faced my fears of seeing my brother in that position.   I felt a lot better.

I enjoyed visiting Carl and thought about the visit for a few days afterwards.  I knew I had to help my brother get off of death row...

The end !