Tales From The Living Dead

At age seventeen, we tend to think we’re going to live forever as we mindlessly run around impulsively acting on impressions given to us by older people, whether these impressions be wholesome or not ultimately decide if we succeed or fail; live or die; or whatever.

I literally lost my life at age seventeen due in part to impulse and negative impressions. Also due to a racist Judge who saw absolutely no value in my life and had no compassion for a young black mother begging for mercy for the life of her only son.

Judge Floyd J. Lofton advised me he intended for me to be a very old man if and/or when I left prison for robbing Caucasian people in Little Rock, Arkansas. He had no regard for my poverty, my drug or alcohol addiction and abuse nor did he consider redemption! To him, I was a nigger he had discretion to hang high in the tree of time! Lofton killed me with life plus 200 years! Shook my hand and said Good Luck…?!

I here in acknowledge those alive and late whom found worth in my life despite my being buried alive with time. Doris Proctor, my mother for all you sacrificed and gave in times that may have mattered most.

Bernice Stewart, my grandmother. For never wavering no matter what.

My Aunts—Rhonda Kay Stewart, Sandra Stewart, and Linda Johnson. For entering into my life with support at times that life seemed to depend on it. Your encouragement, financial and emotional support sustained me.

My cousins—Richard (Mon) Tappin, the late Ronnie Stewart, Jr. and Asmar (Doc) Stewart. All three of you made things happen for me at different times that kept me sane.

My late Uncle Reginald Stewart. There for me in every way I could need. I miss you dearly, think about you daily!

My dear sister Kimberly Catrice Ledeatte, I apologize for abandoning you at age fourteen leaving you in the midst of all kinds of evil men will do to a young lady. I was not there for you and I regret it. I especially apologize for not walking you down the aisle at your wedding. It haunts me to this day even though I’ve never mentioned it. I failed you and aspire to be a better brother by becoming a better man.

Mr. Leroy Brownlee, former Chairman of the Arkansas Parole Board. Your visits and words of encouragement gave me inspiration and hope! You saved my life from falling deeper into the pit of darkness by showing me my worth and why I was despised and hated by Larry B. Norris and cohorts, resulting in their ceaseless torture upon my psyche and person. When all I conceived was vengeance and death you said to me, Terry, I don’t care what you’ve done in the past, I understand. You got all that time with no hope! Get your shit together and I’ll do all I can to get you out of here. Making me hold my head up. Praying for peace and stopping the violence to settle scores.

Najee Mustafa Muhammad, my spiritual advisor. Dear brother…it’s simple. Thank you, soldier. This is just as much your book as it is mine. You are all through it.

Lastly, all those I didn’t name who wrote, visited, sent letters, cards, pictures, money and messages. It all helped me feel better about myself in a situation where not one other prisoner can tell you they have suffered the isolation, suppression, oppression, mental, emotional and physical abuse at the hands and discretion of the Arkansas personnel in this Hell hole of debilitation. The Arkansas Department of Corruption.

I am a man and not one human being can dispute that, mob or die!

In struggle,

Terrance Proctor

PREFACE

Tales is a book of true stories written by me. I entered prison at the age 17 with a sentence of life plus 200 years for 10 counts of aggravated robbery. {Some of which I was totally innocent.} However, I was misled by an alcoholic attorney, whom was seemingly misled by a racist, vindictive judge to plead guilty in exchange for 30 year concurrent sentences. The Judge Floyd J. Lofton would say in sentencing, I say I’m not going to ruin him (me) but I am, and he did!!!

I write many tales about what I’ve seen, heard, and experienced while living dead in a dirty south prison system where corruption is more common than the cold.

I give you my mind, heart, soul, and spirit as I transition from an uneducated adolescence into a man’s man, a jailhouse lawyer, poet, songwriter, rapper, activist, and author, while fighting desperately to sur-vive the many snares and traps set to rob me of my dear life, being stabbed 22 times by an inmate working in cahoots with hateful prison guards while I was in handcuffs and leg shackles as the guards stood back and watched.

Tales fearlessly takes you deeply into the bowels of an extremely brutal system, stirring every con¬ceivable emotion associated to witnessing rapes, murders by the hands of inmates and guards, countless beatings resulting in broken bones, loss of eyeballs, suicides, heartache and heartbreak, and corruption that ascends all the way up to the United States District Court in Pine Bluff and Little Rock, Arkansas and beyond.

Enter my cell in solitary where I’ve spent endless years for being daring enough to file lawsuits chal-lenging the rampant abuse only to run into the brick fist of callous and corrupt United States Magistrates, Judges, and their clerks as they accept bribes and dismiss lawsuit after lawsuit serving only to embolden my abusers.

Look into the mind of other prisoners including Derrick Burrell whom spent 16 years in the ADC on rape charges, killing another inmate while he was serving his time with a garden hoe and beating the charge. Ultimately paroled, he quickly re-offended to the tune of murder, and while in custody he es¬capes and rapes an 18 year old young lady, and commits robbery before being recaptured. He explains how the ADC turned him into a Frankenstein and released him into society filled with rage!!!

Read the many songs written by several other rappers and myself that I intend to serve as the sound track if a movie deal is secured. Read the poems and themes and last words of guys that committed suicide.

Witness my family and my joy after my appearing before the Arkansas Parole Board and getting a unanimous favorable vote to grant me executive clemency followed by a devastating disappointment of Mike Huckabee’s denial. However, he signed and approved my accomplice, recommended executive clemency and released him in June of 2003. I would receive two additional favorable recommendations that Mike Huckabee and Mike Beebe would deny. Read Tales From The Living Dead! YOU will not think the same exiting as you did entering!

FOREWARD

A little more than twelve years before Nathan McCall wrote Makes Me Wanna Holler: A young Black man in America. I too was experiencing many of the identical struggles, racism, desires, and temptations contributing to my ultimately being incarcerated, faced with a cruel and unusual sentence of LIFE PLUS 200 YEARS, for ten counts of aggravated robbery, put aside from my brief criminal activity landing me into prison. I was very much into RAP and HIP HOP, something I will expound on later in this writing.

January 20, 1983, at the age of 17, I entered the Arkansas Department of Corruption. January 30, 1983, I turned 18 in a life filled with too much time to kill, clueless and still some¬what in a state of shock, I begin to navigate my way literally through hell. Out the starting gate, savage-physical-abuse was administered upon my person, delivered by vicious, animalistic dogs clothed as CORRUPTION OFFICERS, triggering my then young brain into extreme decisions of revenge, hatred, and hopelessness!!!

Due to my reactionary/aggressive traits, I was transferred at 19 to Cummins Prison Farm in Grady, Arkansas, then known as the BIG HOUSE. After a mere six months, I was transferred to Tucker Maximum Security Unit (a.k.a. Tha Slaughter House) in Tucker, Arkansas! There I faced incomprehensible brutality at the whim of a rogue Warden, Larry B. Norris, who’d turned his staff into blood-thirsty goons, more importantly to note while responsible for security and safety of the prison and its prisoners.

From 1984-1995, I was put through torturous hell both mentally and physically, where I was forced to fight the evil dogs without even knowing why I was fighting. But fight I did, like any man, woman, and/or animal would instinctively do when attacked with unprovoked vio¬lence. Literally, it was MOB OR DIE!!! Physically, spiritually, mentally, or whatever.

Throughout this journey thru hell, I discovered an insatiable appetite to read, read, read, consuming everything I could find that was challenging and/or informing to my mind. More important, a true found art-form in poetry, and rap with enough skill to Rock Tha Lyrics Or Flow them With An Exceptional Narrative Lovers of RAP Appreciated lyrics that articulated the savagery my life had become under the keep of the state of Arkansas.

Nathan McCall is merely one of many Black authors whose material I’ve read and felt affected by the contents therein. Make Me Wanna Holler, is truly a must read, if not a collector’s item. I felt the brother deeply in that one. However, when Najee M. Muhammad sent me Nathan’s second book, What’s Going On, it was then I knew that if I lived, I would eventually write a book. In fact, I even played around with a few feeble attempts to start writing responses to some of the things Nathan wrote in his script based on the mentality I possessed at the time. It was exemplified in Chapter Four, Gangstas, Guns and Shoot em’ Ups. Probably, in every aspect expressed by Nathan from speaking of the emergence of early rappers such as The Sugar Hill Gang, et al, to writing that rap represents the voice of the powerless, the forgotten, the dispossessed.Among many, rappers are viewed as lyrical Malcolm X’s, fiery orators come to liberate, oppressed African-Americans, who say they’re fed-up—fed-up with discrimination, fed-up with Uncle Toms and Clarence Thomas, fed-up with being systemically fucked with, fucked around, and fucked over.

As you look into the number of fucks the brother articulated, looking into the way we are fucked you cannot help but to feel something and/or at least identify with it by virtue of a Father, Uncle, Cuzzin, Nephew, Son, Grandson, Black male, in your very family being incarcerated. Hence fucked!

I bring to you a journey into my lyrical contents to read for yourself and to permit you the opportunity to classify independently, be it Gangsta Rap: Reality-Hardcore-Raw-Expression. True, when I first heard a rap, it was by a band called The Fat Back Band with King Tim the third, then Blowfly, Sugar Hill Gang, and Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five.

None of their raps were political gems or gangsta fantasies. They were feel good party songs. We all loved and learned to flow verbatim while fulla that good and that oil. If music is tied to behavior, then the party was on when we played rap, hip hop, and funk. By the mid 1980s when rap music literally took over the industry, the gangsta rap was just beginning to surface in so far as getting radio play. I was in the pen listening to a transistor radio catching only what was lended by the DJ’s. But we knew in 1984 that WHODINI had the show! There was nothing gangsta about it.

In 1988 it started to change as rappers such as Ice T., N.W.A. and Too Short brought the Mobbin into rap music. Although Too Short wasn’t classified as a gangsta, his sexually explicit lyrics ran neck and neck with Mob Music. This was also the time that I started writing a lot of my own raps. They varied in subject matter, but mostly stayed the course of reality expressions articulating the pain I lived. I wrote from the heart and soul of me. My life was nothing as a prisoner caged: debilitated, segregated, tortured. Nevertheless, the human being in me, the feelings, the hate, the pain, the hopelessness, the abandonment of humanity, society not knowing the atrocities that were going on in these space camps down in the DIRTY SOUTH, atrocities perpetrated by everyday citizens walking in the free world.

Mostly in little counties around Arkansas, such as Jefferson, Lincoln, and the surrounding areas, (excluding Pulaski the majority of the SLAVES sentenced to hell-a-time came from these SLAVES, the state of Arkansas will be collecting $60 per day off of from now on. #087410, or any other {ADC} number has a collecting fee of $60 and the miserable Varner Supermax takes in more than $66 per day for prisoners housed at its torturous unit. When you look into the mathematics and economics and then apply your own common sense to the facts, you will see: Niggaz are a product on the market for sale-and big time, graveyards makes no bail.

They (whites) have been known to sacrifice their own and throw in a few sprinkles of salt for statistical data; camouflage and sacrifice. Although they (whites) try to not make it so obvious, the attempts they do make are trifling, and insulting to say the least. The Arkansas Department of Corruption has historically beaten its errants, and has resorted to murdering some in certain circumstances, via gas, gun, knight stick, and other forms of death by corruption.

A significant number of staff members are or were gang-related and territorial, especially those from Jefferson County, Pine Bluff, Arkansas. These said officers frequently made it very clear; they did not like prisoners from Little Rock, Arkansas, stating innumerable times: We don’t like you Little Rock Niggers, the US VS. THEM mentality. Today I know for certain the staff of the (ADC) is infiltrated with Crips, Bloods. Gangster Disciples. Vice Lords. Skin Heads. White Supremacist Groups, White Racist, and Black Racist. This contributes to the many abuses reported throughout this book.

The Arkansas State Penitentiary was founded in 1838. The act that established the state was signed by the Governor James S. Conway. The first penitentiary was on a 92-acre tract of land. The current state capitol stands on the land that was the first penitentiary. The penitentiary was moved to a 15-acre site in Southwest Little Rock in 1899. The site was popularly known as THE WALLS. It remained in operation until 1933. In the early years, the inmates were leased out to companies and businesses for labor purposes. Around the turn of the century, a new approach was undertaken. The state purchased 10,000 acres of land near Grady, Arkansas in 1902. The idea was to work the inmates on a farm and the proceeds of their labor benefit the state rather than private businesses.

In 1916, this idea was expanded when an additional 4,420 acres of land was purchased near Tucker, Arkansas. This farming concept is still in operation today. Rows of crops and live stock are raised on 14,000 acres at the Cummins Unit, Grady, Arkansas; 3,800 acres at Tucker; 3,300 acres at Wrightsville, Arkansas; and 2,950 acres at the East Arkansas Regional Unit in Brickeys, Arkansas.

In the early years there were very few free world employees. Most of the work, including security and administration was done by inmates. Inmate trustees were allowed to carry weapons in order to guard the other prisoners. Corporal punishment was allowed and was administered with A STRAP. A-STRAP, was a long, thick, two to four inch wide leather strap attached to a wooden handle. Corporal punishment was abolished by Federal court in 1970, and sweeping changes began to occur. Federal Judge J. Smith Henley ruled that the entire prison system was unconstitutional.

Whatever it was that made the Federal court decide to rule that the entire prison system was unconstitutional during that era of time, he and/or they need to rise from the dead and take a look at the system today. TALES takes you into the depth of the penitentiary, and shows you exactly how abusive and corrupt the personnel are.

I made a conscious decision to sacrifice myself by lending my most personal thoughts, feelings, rage, desires, demons, abuses, knowledge, wisdom, understanding, questions, answers, and healing to reach society at large. But, more importantly for the young brothers and sisters that have, and/or will, stray from the truth, the truth that most were taught by their mothers, fathers, and anyone else that may have taught them right from wrong.

Young men and young women, welcome to the life of the livin’ dead, where dreams do not exist.

Terry Proctor

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgement

Preface

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

1 - Welcome to the World of the Arkansas Department of Corruptions

Arkansas Code of 1987, Annotated § 12-29-101, Custody Classifications and Treatment Programs... (b) Persons committed to the institutional care of the department will be dealt with humanely with efforts directed to their rehabilitation. And © (1) for these purposes, the department may establish programs of classification and diagnosis, education, case work, counseling and psychiatric therapy, vocational training and guidance, work, library, and religious services, and other rehabilitation programs or services as may be indicated.

The significant number of prisoners that are asking, often even times begging, for my assistance to seek redress of wrong done to them, being one of the few effective jail house lawyers, I am made constantly aware of the redundancy of untold atrocities going on within the Arkansas Department of Corruption. On the other hand, the abuse that I, myself have endured is probably more than shocking to the conscience, and/or to the imagination of any ordinary person since it is many times worse than what he, an average prisoner is forced to tolerate. Due to my active assistance to other prisoners and the active prosecution of my own litigation, I have developed a reputation for being a writ writer in the Arkansas Department of Corruption.

Prisoners who are recognized as writ writers are universally disliked by the Arkansas Department of Corruptions personnel and employees of other state departments. As a result of the near universal dislike and disdain by Arkansas Department of Corruptions and other state employees against writ writers, persons standing in my position are treated with unusual scorn, insults, racial slurs and other forms of maltreatment.

Such ridicule, scorn and other maltreatment are, in fact, retaliatory devices designed to make the life of a writ writer unusually uncomfortable and to inflict punishment for their activist activities. These forms of retaliation are practiced under the cloak of state action and are disguised as disciplinaries and are prosecuted extensively using the rules and regulations of the Arkansas Department of Corruption. The uses of the rules and regulations of the Arkansas Department of Corruption as retaliatory devices of activist activities practiced by writ writers is an unconstitutional deprivation of civil liberties entitling the victims of such practice to monetary damages.

I was transferred to the Varner Unit Supermax on September 11, 2000, in retaliation for my suing the Warden of Tucker Maximum Unit, Greg Harmon et al.., and my other activist activities. But, it went on the record that I was transferred here for being a violent uncontrollable inmate.

This is the published Varner Unit Supermax mission statement which reads in part as follows:

…It is the mission of the Varner Unit Supermax to provide safe, secure and humane environment for staff, inmates and visitors. The Varner Unit Supermax will safely house, manage and insure the safety and welfare of inmates who have demonstrated that they are not capable of functioning in a population setting.

It has been determined that these inmates are a threat to the good order and security of the institution, poses a threat to themselves or others, or require closer supervision than Maximum security can provide.

Reintegration to less secure facility will be encouraged through a transitional program.

As it pertains to me, my transfer to the Varner Unit Supermax through Arkansas Department of Corruption rules and regulations was a reprisal on the part of the Arkansas Department of Corruption employees in retaliation for my litigation and activist activities as a writ writer.

There are no established guidelines published by the Arkansas Department of Corruption that were reviewed and approved by the Board of Corrections, Attorney General, or established by the Legislature of the state of Arkansas delineating the differences between major disciplinary and minor disciplinary, although state law mandates that these guidelines be established pursuant to Arkansas Code Annotated § 12-27-105 wherefore the Board of Corrections is vested with the authority to promulgate the rules and regulations.

The decision as to whether a particular act constitutes a Major Disciplinary or a Minor Disciplinary is highly subjective and left to the undisciplined and unrestrained discretion of Arkansas Department of Corruption personnel. The decision as to whether an alleged infraction constitutes a Major Disciplinary or a Minor Disciplinary, can be influenced by the retaliatory animus of the officers filing the disciplinary.

The Varner Unit Supermax facility is a highly regulated, privilege-restricted environment that imposes an atypical and significant hardship on an inmate in relation to ordinary incidents of the prison life.

Prison spokesperson, Dina Tyler has contended on a number of occasions in her statements to the press and/or media: Varner Unit Supermax is a punitive unit that houses only the worst of the worst or the most incorrigible prisoners. But if you look into cell block four where the death row inmates reside you will find approximately 43 prisoners who are Class 1-C, and have maintained Class 1-C for extended periods and who haven’t been involved in any violence in many years.

There is no penological purpose to having them in a punitive environment or any justification for housing them indefinitely at such restrictive units. The only justification Warden Grant Harris, Assistant Warden Kim E. Luckett and Chief Deputy Director Ray Hobbs give is that back in the 80s or 90s we were involved in some kind of violence.

This is a violation of our constitutional rights to the tune of the Eighth Amendment, Cruel And Unusual Punishment, the Due Process and the Equal Protection Clause of the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments, also, the Arkansas Constitutional Double Jeopardy Clause where no person will be punished twice for one violation. And it totally contradicts the aforesaid Varner Unit Supermax Mission Statement in this plea for redress.

For example, recently, I went before Warden Harris to be released from Varner Unit Supermax and was denied for what he said was a violent past history dating back to 1985!

NOTE: On September 2005, I was transferred from Cummins Unit back to Varner Unit Supermax for possessing $75.00 in U.S. currency, a nonviolent infraction and the most commonly disciplined. Warden Harris assigned me to Varner Unit Supermax, but advised me that when I retained my Class 1-C, he would reintegrate me into population by March of 2006. I retained my Class 1-C, irrespective of the fact Harris was not a man of integrity, I.e., he did not stick to his word. So, here it is April 2007 and I am still housed in the Varner Unit Supermax in the cell block with death row inmates.

2 - Allegations, Accusations, Past History and Facts

I entered prison at the age of 17 in 1983, sentenced to Life plus 200-years for 10 counts of robbery. I did not murder, shoot, batter, or rape anyone, nor was I guilty of every count of robbery.

Back in the 80s, a young kid had to fight hard just to sustain his manhood, because the prison guards strongly encouraged homosexuality and man rape, and prison guards were extremely brutal. They would use violent excessive force at any whim for as little as looking them in the eye or to walking the way they thought you should.

My first week in prison, I was beaten savagely for how I walked and the fact that I was from Little Rock. I was told by guards... We don’t like you Little Rock Niggers!

In 1984, after 13 months of incarceration, I was transferred to the big house, the {Cummins Unit} where all the older adult hardened criminals were housed. I was a mere 19-year-old kid thrown to the wolves! I had no choice but to become violent or fall prey to man rape.

Six-months after my transfer to Cummins, I was transferred to the new Max Unit, Tucker Max where, upon my arrival, I was savagely beaten by the so-called welcoming committee.

From September 1984 through October 1985, I was kept in the {hole} and beaten by a number of Correction Officers under Larry Norris’ watch, who was Warden and Ray Hobbs, who was Major Chief Security CO. I was beaten while my hands were handcuffed behind my back with axe handles, pick handles, lead ball leather slappers, riot batons, fist, feet, and they spit in my face, and once five correctional officers urinated in a five-gallon mop bucket, ½ filled with filthy water and threw it on me and all my property, including my Holy Bible, Holy Quran and family photos.

October 1985, I was released from the hole by Major Ray Hobbs and Warden Larry Norris and placed on Administrative Segregation. I was extremely angered by the degradation, humiliation, pain, and suffering I’d been through that had been inflicted by the outlaw staff of Tucker Max, so it is not surprising that what happened next would take place.

October 7, 1985, after working all day in the field, landscaping, I entered the building to be stripped searched. While standing there butt-naked, the guard searched my clothes. He dropped one of my boots. He looked at me and said, Boy, pick up that brogan and hand it to me.

I replied, You dropped it, you pick it up.

He then stated, Nigger you going right back to the hole where you just come from and ‘we’re’ going to beat your ass!

Being 20-years-old and impulsive, I hit him in his face and told him to beat my ass now while I don’t have handcuffs on I was placed back in the hole and severely beaten. Warden Norris stood back and watched it all, then asked me, Proctor, are you mad?

In 1986, I was still in the hole when Major Ray Hobbs was promoted to Assistant Warden. His replacement was Captain Robert Perry (a.k.a. God), who was promoted to Major, and was a brutal dictator that strongly resembled Hitler. Major Perry requested that all the Correction Officers at other facilities who were 6’4, 6’8, or 7’0, feet tall transfer to Tucker Max. When they got there, they were handed ax handles, riot gear, and gas, along with the green light to kick some ass! Inmates were savagely beaten and denied medical treatment. To this day I can still hear the sound of bones being broken, skulls being cracked, and pleas for mercy that fell on deaf ears; those guards were in a whipping frenzy!

Major Perry approached my cell in the hole. Unbeknownst to him, I had already decided to make them kill me. I looked into his evil blue eyes with defiance, when he ordered me to be handcuffed. I declined. Nope! If you’re going to whip me, it won’t be in handcuffs.

He stared into my eyes, looked me up and down, laughed, then asked for my roll of tissue. He returned about 10-sheets of the roll and told me that was all I was going to get once a day. He said God Dammit, if you act like a dog, I’m going to treat you like a dog!

Later that night while I was asleep, approximately 10 very big guards approached my cell in full riot gear, shot gas into my cell until I was blinded, nose running, coughing, choking, and vomiting. I was forced into handcuffs and beaten from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet; kicked, stomped, kneed, punched, slapped and beat with sticks. My mind was taken over with rage and the thought of revenge, then suicide, then revenge, and then suicide. It went back and forth until I settled on revenge.

On August 12, 1986, another prisoner and I attacked Major Perry, stabbing him, a total of seven times in retaliation for the unjustifiable brutal beatings upon our persons. Shortly thereafter, Lieutenant Jimmy Colman approached my cell and threatened to kill me for stabbing Perry, and because he knew I wanted to ‘get him’ too, due to the brutal beatings he himself had inflicted upon me in the past (always while I was in handcuffs).

Almost immediately, I was literally buried in the hole with fabricated disciplinaries, regularly beaten and gassed, and spat upon by Lieutenant Coleman and his posse of lackeys.

And I was told that I would be in the hole from now on. I spent a few years in the hole for no reason other than that is where they wanted me to be and they were filling my prison file with lies of violence and mayhem. They were destroying me in every conceivable way. Occasionally, I was released from the hole, only to have Jimmy Coleman and/or his lackeys write another lie against me to land me back in the hole. Numerous inmates advised me they had been propositioned with favors, cash, and drugs to kill me.

On December 18, 1989, a Correctional Officer placed me in handcuffs, opened my cell door and allowed another inmate to stab me 22-times, with a homemade knife, nearly killing me; Lieutenant Jimmy Coleman, Sergeant Randy Dolphin, and CO (Correctional Officer) Nelson were behind it.

In 1990, I was escorted to the hole on Lieutenant Coleman’s order, where the same inmate who stabbed me 22 times, was again released from his cell to attack me, but he refused to do so. In 199I this inmate was transferred out-of-state and has not been heard of since.

In 1992, I focused on making progress, changing my way of thinking, acting and reaction to people, and their capricious arbitrary abuse. I obtained my GED, started reading philosophy, psychology, psychiatry, American history, English history, theology, and books on the Civil Rights Movement, and {law}. Up to this point after a decade in prison, I’d accomplished nothing. But, now I read and read. 1992-94 was much of the same with a few exceptions.

There was a psychologist by the name of Mr. Allen, a white guy, who spoke to me by suggestion, which he asked me, Did I want to transfer to a New Mexico prison.I told him. No! I don’t want to go to New Mexico, for what?

Mr. Allen asked if I was willing to have a man to man talk with him, strictly off- the record because, he could tell I did not trust him. I agreed. Terry, he began. The Assistant Warden asked me to speak with you. I didn’t think you would go to New Mexico and frankly, I wouldn’t encourage it. Lieutenant Coleman is the one that’s pushing this because the guy is scared to death of you. He said he’d done everything he could to break you and you won’t break. Now, he’s worried about you retaliating.

I explained to Mr. Allen how Lieutenant Coleman had gassed and beaten me on a number of occasions, threatened to kill me, and had me stabbed while in handcuffs. I explained how he had numerous disciplinaries written against me thru his lackeys, Bernard Gardner, Jimmerson, Johnson, and Anthony who also beat me while in handcuffs, and how he turned every Warden at Tucker Max against me to keep me in lock down, because he felt that if I’m released I will get him back."

Mr. Allen, you have no clue how he’s tortured me, planted shanks on me, had inmates write fabricated snitch letters on me saying I would kill him. My life has been spent in the hole. Man, I cannot visit my family or anything! I’d rather be dead than to live this way.

Mr. Allen listened to me patiently, allowing me to get it all out of my system. This man cried real tears at the story I told him. Then he became angry. He realized he’d been manipulated and used by the Warden and Lieutenant Coleman.

Terry, he said, I want to apologize to you for judging you without ever having met you. I honestly thought you were this monster! So forgive me. Would you be willing to speak with me once a week? I’d really like to hear your story. I go to colleges and teach classes and I work with troubled youth. I really could learn a lot from you.

I became very close to Mr. Allen and even wrote three rap songs for him that he allowed me to record on a cassette tape player that targeted gang violence. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be treated like a human being. When Mr. Allen left in December of 1992, I was saddened. I’d lost a friend, a mentor, and someone who didn’t buy the reputation I had established. He told me I had a strong mind and that I was a survivor. The day he left, he came to my cell, shook my hand and gave me a radio. His last words were, Watch your back. Don’t let them win!

By 1994, I’d retained my Class 1-C, with the hopes of going in to the general population and continuing to improve my education and rehabilitation. But, it was not to be. While I was visiting with my family, Lieutenant Coleman sent several officers into my cell to shake it down for a weapon. When they didn’t find a weapon, Lieutenant Coleman had me written up for a jug they said smelled like alcohol, another set-up! And, even though the disciplinary expired, I was still taken to court on it. I was so frustrated, I pled guilty to having the jug, even though there was no alcohol in it. I was reduced to Class IV, and given 30-days in the hole.

Before it was time for me to be escorted to the hole, House Manager Billy Taylor had me brought to his office where he advised me I would in fact not be going to the hole. He said he knew I wasn’t guilty of alcohol and couldn’t allow me to go backwards, after coming so far.

He mentioned there was a new Warden named Terry Campbell here who was fair, and ready to clean up Tucker Max! And if I was patient and not fall back into the old traps, he would put a good word in for me and help me get out of lock down.

He said, Terry, you have been through a lot and you are bitter and I would be too if someone dogged me the way you’ve been dogged.He advised me that he did not like Coleman nor Assistant Warden Tom Pitts, because they were dirty and corrupt and that they would not be there much longer.

I gave Billy Taylor my word, that I would not go backwards and assured him I would not make him look bad if he helped me.

Days preceding Mr. Campbell’s arrival, Assistant Warden Tom Pitts had me brought to his office, and he asked me if I wanted to transfer to Oklahoma State Penitentiary. I replied No!

Pitts flew into a rage telling me that he didn’t want me in his penitentiary, that I had too much influence, blah, blah, blah. Then his secretary walked in and told me Oklahoma pays their inmates to work. I had no words for her. After a moment of silence Pitts shouted, You trying to get a gun in my penitentiary?I replied, No, and asked to be escorted back to my cell. Pitts said, You better think about it, Terry, Lieutenant Coleman’s going to be here a long time and I will back him on whatever he does. I took that as a threat on my life.

Warden Campbell arrived at Tucker Max around the same time that news anchorman Mel Hanks was exposing numerous security break downs and corruptions that had been going on there for years. Death Row inmates cohabitating in one cell, taking pictures with inmates that were from the general population, possessions of drugs, alcohol, gun powder, screwdrivers, chisels, hammers, you name it, and holes dug through cell walls, etc.

Warden Campbell had me escorted to his office, where he advised me of all the negativity he’d heard about me. He wanted to know why I was such a concern to Jimmy Coleman, Tom Pitts, and cohorts. I expressed to him truthfully and sincerely how they had tortured me and were afraid of me retaliating against them, so, they made it a priority to turn you against me to prevent you from giving me a chance to be released to population. Warden Campbell advised me that he had already spoken with several staff members about me and that they corroborated my story so he would continue to investigate the situation and look at my status and behavior.

Immediately Lieutenant Coleman and Assistant Warden Pitts ordered me to take a urinalysis to which I could not submit. Unbeknownst to me, I suffered from Prostites. I was written a disciplinary for refusing a drug test. However, the infirmary staff wrote a witness disciplinary statement attesting to blood being in my urine and a diagnosis of Prostites, and the disciplinary was thrown out.

I went before the classification committee to be considered for possible release to general population. Lieutenant Coleman appeared in civilian attire, coming in from vacation to see what would happen. He was extremely nervous and was pacing back and forth.

There were eleven voting members including Tom Pitts who sneered at me as he pulled a folded note out of his pocket and handed it to Warden Campbell to read to the committee. It was a note I’d wrote to a death row inmate named Daryle Hill, venting my frustrations about the abuse, the frequent drug tests, and how miserable life was. Additionally, I expressed a desire to kick Captain Mena’s ass because he thought he was tough and he’d allowed Lieutenant Coleman to influence him against me.

Proctor, did you write this note?All eyes were on me. Yes, Sir, Warden Campbell, I did write that letter, but that letter is more than one year old and has never been a factor until today, Sir. I explained at the time I wrote the note, I was being harassed and was extremely frustrated. So, I was venting my frustration, Sir. The fact that Mr. Pitts has that note tells you just how obsessed they are to keep me on lock down. Daryle Hill didn’t give them the note, Sir. The middleman did, Roy Henderson, because Lieutenant Coleman keeps his spies and snitches in place against me. That is all I have to say.

Warden Campbell said he appreciated my honesty, which made all the difference.

Pitts scowled then said He just refused a piss test!

I replied, No, I didn’t refuse it. I have Prostites.

When the vote was taken, I won 6-5 in favor of my release. Pitts’ face turned Fire Red and he stated Ya’ll fucking up!

When the other inmates were released later that day, I was not. Instead, I was escorted to Major Hefner’s office where he was walking with Captain Mena. He tells me that Captain Mena has concerns that I will attack him if I’m released into the population. I immediately think to myself, "Here we go again, another trick! This is the same Captain who months ago was so tough, so verbally abusive, who told me he would piss test me every thirty days because he could. Now he stands before me looking at the floor like a demur child refusing me eye contact.

Major Hefner said, Proctor, I voted to release you into the population, because, you haven’t given me one problem and I believe everybody deserves a chance, but my Captain here seems to think you are going to harm him if you are released. So, I need you to give me your word you won’t attack my Captain.

I told him, Major Hefner, I don’t know this man from a can of paint. He came here in 1992 and joined the dog Terry Proctor band wagon! This man has done me a lot of wrong, unpro¬voked that did indeed make me want to get him back. But, that is all in the past, Sir. I am no longer on that kind of crusade. A lot of people stuck their necks out for me today. A lot of people believe in me and are giving me a chance, Sir. That means the world to me and I wouldn’t abuse this opportunity, so, you have my word, I will not do anything to Captain Mena, Major Hefner.

Captain Mena explained that he may have gotten caught up in something against me that he shouldn’t have, but assured me he had nothing personally against me and would not conspire against me further. However, he made it very clear he was afraid of me.

I was still not released. Billy Taylor had me escorted to his office, where he advised me that Lieutenant Coleman and his cohorts were scared to death and were screaming bloody murder to