Life After Death: The Shocking True Story of a Innocent Man on Death Row

wouldn’t do one single thing to help me. I was refused the right to a trial in front of a jury, and he just shrugged as if to say, “Oh, well. That’s life.” Instead, a judge alone decided my case. I wasn’t even allowed to talk during the proceeding. We didn’t go to a courtroom; the judge came to the prison so the session could be held in a small room out of public view. The lies the administration told were pretty incredible. They “proved” that the warden couldn’t have done anything to me because he was in the hospital recovering from a heart attack. Did the lawyer appointed to me investigate that claim? No. He sat quietly, drinking a soda.
    Ultimately, that warden was fired, although it wasn’t because of anything he’d done to me. Some of his other foul deeds caught up to him. The worst of those particular guards were also either fired or promoted and shipped to other prisons in the state. The one who put the knife in my cell continued to work at Tucker Max for many more years, despite constant reports of abuse. Eventually, the ADC had no choice but to “take action” against him when he was caught on camera beating a handcuffed inmate in the face. No charges were ever filed against any of them. After all, it’s not like they were actually abusing people, you know. Just prisoners.
    The cells of my body store fear the way others’ do fat. Every terrifying and traumatic thing I’ve ever experienced is still held within my muscle fiber as well as in my brain tissue. It pervades nearly every aspect of my life and influences nearly all of my actions. Everyone thinks of me as being so brave, but I recognize my own cowardice in all I do. Sometimes I feel fear building up in my throat like a scream.
    One day a couple guys from another barracks had some sort of disagreement. They weren’t on Death Row, but were often on the yard at the same time we were. The disagreement escalated into a shoving match, and soon enough one of them produced the most infamous of all prison artifacts: the homemade knife. The man who had no knife tried to climb the fence to escape the one who did. If he had succeeded, the guard in the tower would have shot him dead and called it an escape attempt. However, he did not make it over. Instead, he became entangled in the razor wire that lines the top of the fence. Razor wire is far more unforgiving than barbed wire and will produce horrendous damage when it meets with human flesh. As the gentleman cut himself to shreds in the razor wire, the other guy stepped up and began stabbing him repeatedly in the ass. It was horrific. I have no idea how many wounds were delivered to the gentleman’s rear end; suffice it to say it was more than he wished for. This guy was none too liked by his comrades, who chose to taunt him by asking which hole he would now shit out of. This is a harsh world in which you often search in vain for a bit of sympathy.
    As unpleasant as that scene was, there was one worse. There was an image that kept me staring at the ceiling on more than one sleepless night. The ignorance and cruelty of prison guards can’t be overstressed. They make their living by abusing men who are down on their luck. Never was a more cowardly profession devised. They love nothing more than to have a man chained and shackled so they can torture him at leisure. If that same man were unchained and unshackled, the guards would run for their lives, or at least gather up ten or twelve of their friends to provide “moral support.”
    Two of these despicable men (I use the word “men” in its loosest sense) had been ceaselessly tormenting an inmate on Death Row. It went on for several weeks before he finally snapped. They soon realized you can push a man only so far, especially when he has nothing left to lose. Some of the guys on Death Row were playing a game of basketball on the yard when someone tossed the ball over the fence. When the guards opened the gate to toss the ball back in, all hell broke loose. Kurt, the man they had been tormenting, began to viciously stab both guards over and over. The one with the least amount of damage had been stabbed about seven times. Blood was everywhere. His weapon of choice was a piece of the chain-link fence he had pulled free.
    I couldn’t even begin to tell you how this affected me. To see two men curled up in the fetal position and lying in puddles of their own blood is not something that ever fades from your memory. For quite some time