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Life after life

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Life after life

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Content Life After Life
Eric Lambkins II
A Thesis Presented to the
FACULTY OF USC ANNENBERG SCHOOL OF COMMUNICATIONS AND
JOURNALISM
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
MASTER OF ARTS
(SPECIALIZED JOURNALISM)
August 2024
Copyright 2024 Eric Lambkins II

ii
Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them.
––Hebrews 13:3

iii
Dedication
To my uncle, Charles Jackson, Jr., may your story live throughout eternity.

iv
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I would like to express my deepest gratitude to my Lord and Savior, Jesus
Christ. Because of your divine guidance and grace, I have accomplished everything and will
achieve more. You have carried me through the most daunting challenges—war, homelessness,
and jail. Nonetheless, your grace and mercy have brought me further than I could dream. Your
teachings and love have molded me into who I am today, and I am eternally grateful for that.
I look forward to where you guide me next.
To my wife, Ashli, you have been my rock, the wind in my sails, and the reason I have stayed till
five in the morning at school to work. You have always been there to support me and encourage
me through the highs and lows of life. We have been through off-beaten, bumpy roads, yet you
remain the passenger in this rickety vehicle. Your unwavering love, patience, support and
understanding have been the driving force behind my success. I am blessed to have you as my life
partner.
To my children, Wisdom, Trey, and Logan, you are my pride and joy. You are my legacy. Your
presence in my life has motivated me to strive for excellence and be the best version of myself.
Watching you grow and achieve your dreams has been the most rewarding experience of my life.
On the bleakest days past, present, and in the future, your smiles, voices, eyes, and unconditional
love are the fuel I use and will use to fight my demons and push forward in my darkest days.
Momma, I'm your son! Thank you for believing in me and pushing me to actualize my potential.
It is your unwavering support, admonition, and encouragement that I am who I am. Thank you for
the years you grounded me. Thank you for Baldwin, DuBois, Garvey, X, King, Ida Mae Holland
and Hughes. Thank you for teaching me whose and who I am. Thank you for letting go and trusting
God enough to bring me back around. There isn't enough that I can say.
Train and Short: you are the pride of my tribe. Your wisdom and insight supersede your years.
Although we bicker like cats and dogs, I must admit that we are so much alike, and it is because I
am talking to myself. You are peanut butter; I'm jelly.
S-Macc, you're the closest thing to a big brother I have. But my love for you transcends the blood
that courses through our veins. You are more than a cousin; but a man I emulate and still look up
to. The man you see directly reflects what you have poured into me. There are not enough words
to convey how much I appreciate you. Thank you for keeping me on a straight path. Thank you
for helping me with fatherhood, relationships and finding myself. I rest assured knowing that I can
always call and depend on you. Thank you for being honest with me, especially about me, and for
your vulnerability. From the bottom to the top, I'll never back down. Thank you for teaching me
what being a Real Bo$$ Playa means!
Rondell, I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you. When I had one foot in and out of the grave, you
modeled what better decision-making looked like. You are one of the wisest humans I have met in
my life. You are a remarkable man, but even more, brother. I admire your patience, humility, and
fortitude. I am honored to know you. I love you, Brodie.

v
To the Wu, you have been by my side when the world turned their backs on me. Without your
candor, love and encouragement, I don't know where I'd be. Eagles don't fly with seagulls, and our
flock flies high. I love y'all beyond the infinite.
Da Loc and King, I knew you were different from when I met you. You have allowed me to see
the world through your eyes. Together, we have shared tears, laughs, frustrations and dreams.
What's understood doesn't need to be said, but I love you, Bro! Anytime. Anywhere. I'm ten toes
down.
Josh, your love of sending me cat memes has become something I look forward to. Thank you for
being a sounding board, accountability partner and the reason I started in journalism. I look
forward to future car rides heading nowhere so that we can just vent. Thank you for allowing me
into a world that so few are privy to see. I have no idea what life without you would look like. I'm
glad that I will never have to find out.
Curtis and Dondrick, thank you for showing me that walking with God could be fun and cool.
Thank you for your humor, prayers when I've melted down, listening ears, and accepting me into
your fold. Thank you for entrusting me with your friendship.
Peaches, if you lapped eternity twice, you'd be at the starting point of my love for you.
B. Smitty, you've been solid since the day I met you. It isn't frequently that I admire the leadership
of others. I thank God for you coming into my life and holding my feet to the fire to do all the
things I said I wanted. Thank you for building with me. Thank you for picking me up in low
moments. Thank you for never judging me but befriending me. I look forward to how our
brotherhood will continue to evolve. I rest assured knowing that our bond has been forged by fire,
is as strong as steel, and is as sharp as a razor.
To my friends and family, your love, support, and encouragement have inspired me constantly.
Your unwavering support and belief in me have given me the courage to pursue my dreams and
overcome challenges.
Thank you to the University of Southern California, especially Allison Hill, Jabari Brown, and
Suzanne Alcantara, for providing me with the resources to achieve my goals. The knowledge and
skills I acquired during my time at USC have been invaluable in shaping my career.
I want to express my appreciation to Aadya Chidanand and Rajvinder Singh. I was blessed when
we were paired over the summer. Little did I know that our team would congeal into a formidable
trio that would carry throughout our tenure at Annenberg and beyond. I love the passion you both
have. I love your passion for film and photography, storytelling and the ocean.
RJ, your avant-garde sensibilities will pay off. Continue to allow your heart to lead how you
approach your work, for it is that heart that will provide the agency and compel young men from
your community to pursue all that is beautiful and righteous in this world. Your voice is a trumpet
in the wilderness. I love you until time no longer exists. But, even then, it will be just beginning.

vi
Mermaid, I would consider visiting your home because of you. You're forever my Ady Paddy.
Your abilities with a camera are enviable. For all that you've imparted to your "Dumbkins," thank
you. Stay away from stupid boys! You are a testament to the strength of your family. You are the
highlight of your father's legacy. I am confident that he approves of the woman you are becoming.
You're a friggin' dynamo. Thank you for your love, compassion and kindness. Thank you for being
my friend.
To Lyra Byers, thank you for tutoring me and being an example of what a journalist is. You are
by far the most talented and daring journalist I've met. I am enamored with your heart and passion.
Thank you for advocating for communities that are grossly overlooked. Thank you for being such
a hardcore badass. I adore our snot-filled, tear-laden moments. I look forward to future Pulitzer
and Peabody parties with you. I am confident that your future is brighter than the sun. Blaze on!
Mr. Steve Finley, thank you for taking a chance on a precocious and eager writer. With you, I had
the opportunity to develop as a journalist. Thank you for affording me the time and chance to write.
Thank you for your wisdom, industry knowledge, and long talks.
Alan Abramson, thank you for saving my life. I am eternally grateful for our bond. I am honored
to know you. You are a remarkable human being. Thank you for pouring into me. Thank you for
your humor.
Alan Mittelstaedt and Christina Bellantoni, thank you for your tutelage, guidance and support.
Thank you for engrafting me into your family. Thank you for wiping my tears and holding me up
in the most maligned moment of my life. If not for you, I would not be here. I look forward to
creating a lifetime of memories with you.
Alan, thank you for obliterating my writing. Thank you for teaching me the structure of storytelling
and, even more, for digging deeper than the stories of flimsy state-sponsored documents. Thank
you for nurturing my curiosity, enflaming my penchant for protest, and helping me hone my voice.
I love your curtness, candor, and dry sense of humor. Thank you, Dad!
Gordon Stables, your disposition in a crisis is unflappable. Thank you for being kind, patient, and
caring. Thank you for being a lighthouse during a time of fog.
Afua Hirsch, thank you for seeing my needs and providing me, Tommy, an outlet to address them.
Tommy, thank you for showing me that my perception isn't odd but on point and what is needed
for our culture to move forward. Afua, I admire your grace and brilliance. I can listen to you talk
ALL day. You are the template of the type of scholar-journalist I yearn to be. Thank you for
everything you are and will be in my life.
Sandy Tolan, thank you for your kindness, shepherding, and instruction. Thank you for showing
me that I can produce worthwhile writing. Thank you for pouring into me. Thank you for showing
me the power of narrative.

vii
To Mark Schoofs, Lisa Pecot-Hebert, Gary Cohn, Eric Pape, Laila Muhammad, Ben Carrington,
Oscar Garza and Willow Bay for their invaluable guidance and mentorship throughout my
academic and professional journey. Your expertise, encouragement, and support have been
instrumental in shaping my career and my perception of my role as a journalist.
Moo Moo, P and Prachi, you all are dynamic journalists. I am so excited about what lies on the
horizon for you. Continue to pursue truth at every turn. Search high and under every seashell for
it. I am assured of the state of the world with you in it. Thank you for your friendship. Thank you
for the hugs. Thank you for being some of the better human beings on this planet.
The Talk of Troy, I am honored to have worked beside and with you all. You all have tremendous
talent, and I am eager to see you all skyrocket. You all can be all you dare to dream--if you work
for it. Take what you have inherited and make it better. I am entrusting you with a piece of me;
carry it forward.
The tech staff doesn't get enough recognition -- Chuck, Sebastian, Graham, Magnus, Christopher,
Victor, Tom and Bobby; thank you for helping me in times of crisis, for allowing me to stay to do
work, but most of all, for your professionalism and expertise.
I am grateful for the Trojans to come, who will carry the torch of excellence and continue to uphold
the values and traditions of USC. May your dedication and commitment to your studies and
community inspire future cohorts and give the world hope for a brighter future.
Finally, I would like to express my gratitude to everyone who has touched my life in unenumerable
ways but whose names I have not mentioned. It is not an indication of what you mean to me. I
value every heart-to-heart conversation, every debate and every dream or thought you have shared
with me. Each of you has significantly shaped my journey, and I am deeply grateful for your
presence in my life.
To Watts: We are taught to SUCCEED under pressure! So, it is for everyone within this section
that I put on. You crafted me from your miry clay. You shaped me with every shootout and handto-hand transaction. You forged me from the pressure of either eating or being eaten.
Because of you, I see the world through the prism in which I do. I find your sullen and stodgy
streets--beautiful. I can still smell the intoxicating aroma of bleach-soaked concrete bricks, trashlittered streets, and the savory fusion of soul and Latin foods blending under smog-filled nights.
Thank you for your pissy mattresses, greasy, fat foods, drive-byes, police chases, silver-toothed
children, Black Panthers, and all the infamy you are known for.
You have shown me that not only is there more to stories than is initially told but just how
frequently roses grow from concrete. You are an oasis in a desert, a salve to a diseased heart.

viii
Bigg Guy, there isn't a day that elapses where I don't miss you. I wish I could have shared this with
you while I had you. Since you've passed, I have been singularly focused on bringing honor and
pride to your name.
If I have failed, I ask you for your forgiveness. I will work as hard as I saw you toil to make you
proud. I love you for loving me. Thank you for all your tough love, but even more, for being a
father.
I pray that you will be there at Heaven's gates when I arrive. I miss you. I love you. Until we meet
again, peace—later.

v
Table of Contents
Dedication.......................................................................................................................................iii
Acknowledgements………………….……………………………………………………............iv
Abstract…………………………………………………………………………………...........…vi
Chapter One: Homecoming……………………………………………………………………....1
Chapter Two: Going to Hell……......………………………………………………………...…...6
Chapter Three: Living in Hell………...………………………………………………………….12
Chapter Four: A HART to Succeed...............................................................................................20
Chapter Five: A Taste of Freedom.................................................................................................29
Bibliography..................................................................................................................................37

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Abstract
"Life After Life" is a compelling narrative of redemption that delves into Charles Jackson, Jr.'s
incarceration experience and personal journey. Through intimate and reflective storytelling, it
explores the challenges and transformations encountered during his time in prison and beyond.
This account provides a nuanced and empathetic look at the impact of incarceration on
individuals and their families, highlighting the enduring hope and resilience that can lead to
profound personal change and societal reintegration.

1
Chapter One: Homecoming
I don’t remember much about the day Superman went away. I was 12 years old and in awe of his
powers to command a room and demand respect. To me, he personified cool––smooth, charming
and stoic. In my world of heroes and idols, he was my favorite. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see him
again.
But now my uncle Charles Jackson, Jr. was finally coming home. My mother called me the night
before. "Baby, can you go meet your uncle? He's getting out tomorrow!1" I wondered if he’d
recognize me. What did he look like now? Would I see someone broken after decades of living
in a 70 square foot cage?2
Twenty-six years had gone by since I last saw Uncle Charles. My mother told me a non-profit
agency called the Anti-Recidivism Coalition would meet him at the Calipatria State Penitentiary
and escort him to Los Angeles. She gave me the address in downtown Los Angeles. 3
Shortly after dawn, I raced eastbound on the 10 freeway with Lupe Fiasco's "Welcome Back,
Chilly" blaring on my car stereo. Exiting at Alameda, I wondered how I should react when I saw
him.
1 Phone call with Madelynn Lambkins
2 https://www.bscc.ca.gov/wp-content/uploads/ADULT_Title_24_Part_2.pdf
3 Phone call with Madelynn Lambkins

2
Should I hug him? Should I reach out and shake his hand instead? I would run and jump into
Uncle Chuck’s arms as a child. He'd quickly drop his black leather motorcycle jacket and catch
me in one arm while tossing his helmet into the other hand. His musky cologne, infused with
leather and exhaust. I still hear his gruff voice and trademark greeting, "What's up, nephew?"
With the song on repeat, I parked my BMW 328i in front of the ARC building so my uncle
would see I wasn’t doing too badly.
The agency is in a brick building. I walked up the chic staircase, along the amber wooden walls,
and saw two mammoth glass doors with the letters "ARC" inscribed.
I opened the door, where a well-dressed, gregarious fellow with chocolate-tone and roundframed glasses looked up to greet me, "Hello, how can I help you?"4
"What's good, Boss," I responded. "I'm here to pick up my uncle, Charles Jackson. He got picked
up from Calipat, and I was supposed to meet him here."
My stomach began to flutter. I tussled with my nerves to remain calm.
"Ah, you're his nephew! He's been talking about you. He should be here within the hour. You
can have a seat and wait if you'd like."5
4 Interview with Derrick Miles
5 Interview with Derrick Miles

3
I looked around, searching for a seat where I could see the whole room. After my tour as an
infantryman in Iraq, I can't deal with people coming up from behind me.
I found a plush brown leather chair facing the entrance. I didn't want to miss seeing my
childhood superhero walk through those doors.
The office bustled with idealists, volunteers, and people looking to regain their footing in
society.
Small groups of staffers and the formerly incarcerated met around conference tables in glass
offices. Two young men—Black and Latino—cracked jokes in the makeshift dining area next to
the tea kettle. Within these walls, this non-profit organization helped over 50,000 people6 gain
the skills, resources, hope, and encouragement to defy recidivism and actualize their latent
potential.
Eternity ticked on. I didn't know how much longer I could wait. Suddenly, the elevator doors
opened, and a 5-foot-10 man with a milk chocolate tone and hardened wrinkles etched into his
forehead and brow walked in.
6 Interview with Jacob Brevard, Director of Inside Programs

4
He wore an oversized, long-sleeved, plain gray cotton shirt, baggy gray basketball shorts, and
gray calf-length socks. A black Swoosh clung to his all-white Nikes. The day's joy
overshadowed the gloom of his outfit.
Uncle Chuck strode directly toward me and stuck out his right hand. In his gruff, sandpaper
voice, he said, "What's up, nephew?"
The child inside me wanted to leap and throw my arms around him. I wanted him to swing me
around by the arms until we both got dizzy and fell into laughter. I imagined him putting me in a
headlock and rubbing his hardened knuckles across my scalp. But dreams and fantasies are for
children. We were now both men, hardened by lives of institutionalism, strife, and terror––me in
the military, he in prison.
I replied, "What's good, Unc?"
To me, my uncle was a giant. As a child I barely came up to his waist. I felt safe everywhere I
went with him, from the Jordan Downs projects in Watts to South Central Los Angeles to Santa
Monica's beaches. With my uncle, I was safe to discuss the books I was discovering, learn to
throw a punch and build castles in the sand. I could be whatever I wanted with him -- a
basketball player, a Thundercat, or a reader. From him, I learned confidence and charisma, how
to command a room, and how to charm.
"It's good to see you," I said.

5
"It's good to be seen," Uncle Chuck replied.
As we reacquainted ourselves, Jacob Brevard, the director of inside programs,7 greeted him.
Brevard, who leads the Hope and Redemption Team, is a celebrity to some who reside inside
prison walls. He kicked into action. His team is a collection of people formerly sentenced to life
in prison who return to conduct programs inside the same prisons they rotted in. I stood by and
watched Brevard water the seed of hope his team planted inside my uncle in Calipatria.
"Welcome home," Brevard said, cracking a smile, which showed a missing front tooth. "How
long have you been down?"
"I'm a free man," Uncle Chuck said with conviction. "It's been 26 years, but I am enjoying my
first moments of freedom."
He didn’t smile. Instead, my uncle appeared pensive.
7 https://antirecidivism.org/who-we-are/staff/

6
Chapter Two: Going to Hell
My uncle’s first two strikes came in 19918
. Uncle Chuck had a penchant for flashy things. As he
walked along the Oakland side of the San Francisco Bay one sunny afternoon, a white Honda
caught his eye like newly minted money. He approached the vehicle, like a tiger on the prowl,
with his .357 revolver ready in his clutch as his right index finger began to itch.9
He approached the 20-something African American man and, without warning, placed the barrel
of his pistol against his temple. He wanted to let the man know that he wasn’t joking. He wanted
to put the fear of death in him. “Get out the mother fucking car,” Uncle Chuck demanded. The
man looked at him, eyes widened from astonishment. Before the man could blink or respond,
Uncle Chuck applied five pounds of pressure against the trigger. The double-action hammer
struck the primer of the round, “BANG!” A mist of blood and the sound of terror filled the
Oakland air. My Uncle Chuck had shot a man in the head. He pulled the floundering body from
the vehicle onto the chilly bay’s pavement.10
By an act of God, the bullet passed through non-critical parts of the man’s brain. The man whom
my uncle shot was gasping for air; the man’s eyes rolled into his head. It seemed as if he began
to read the back of his skull. My uncle stood over him as blood seeped from the wound like
warm molasses. As he pointed the pistol at the man to finish him off, the whisper of a conscience
8 California v. Jackson #H-16074
9 Interview with Charles Jackson, Jr. #3
10 Interview with Charles Jackson, Jr. #3

7
told him, “Stop.” My uncle retracted the revolver, placing it inside of his waist. The young man
floundered on the ground clinging to life––he would miraculously survive.11
He hopped into the car and sped away into the salty bay air. Uncle Chuck was now drunk off
power and adrenaline. As the sirens cascaded on the body clinging to life, my uncle went to a
nearby grocery store and added to his mayhem. He pointed the pistol at the store manager. “Give
me the money out of the safe,” Uncle Chuck demanded. Patrons in the checkout line screamed,
ducked and ran for safety.
“Give me the fuckin’ money,” Uncle Chuck demanded. The white male looked him in the eyes,
studying his face, and gave him a little under $200.12 My uncle heard a cacophony of sirens
approaching. He jetted out of the store and into the stolen white Toyota. He punched the pedal
on the four-cylinder engine, hoping it would create distance between him and the converging
police. As he sped through the Oakland streets, he crashed the vehicle and hopped out, and an
officer quickly followed. He ran through an alley with a detective in hot pursuit. He approached
a gate, turned around, and fired a single shot at the detective, hoping it would cause the gumshoe
to end his pursuit. It did not.
Uncle Chuck hopped the gate and ran into an open garage in the back of the driveway. He
climbed through the jungle of camping equipment and knickknacks in the garage. He climbed
for his life; he climbed for freedom. He perched like an eagle near the top of the garage, peering
down on the sliver of light he could see on the ground. He heard sirens, dogs barking, and
helicopters swirling overhead, and then he heard nothing. The sound of his heart reverberated
11 Interview with Charles Jackson, Jr. #3
12 California v. Jackson #H-16074

8
like a drum as he tried to calm down. When he thought it was safe and clear for him to come out
of his perch, he spied a pair of dress shoes and sneakers.
“Are you sure you didn’t see anyone come in here?” a man asked. “No, I didn’t see anyone come
in here,” the other voice responded, and the feet disappeared. Uncle Chuck was stuck like a
gargoyle perched atop the Notre Dame cathedral. He couldn’t reach his pistol because any
sudden movement would have given up his location. So, he lay across the beams, barely
breathing, hoping to remain undiscovered.
The dress shoes returned to his line of sight, this time with a gun drawn, pointing directly up to
my uncle’s head. Uncle Chuck clenched his body as he looked down the barrel of the detective’s
Beretta 9mm service pistol. He felt an ocean of uneasiness as the tables turned, and he was now
forced to stare down the darkness of a barrel.
“Get down and lay on the ground,” the detective demanded. As he climbed down from atop the
garage’s beams and onto the cold concrete floor, my uncle took his initial descent into the depths
of hell; however, it wouldn’t be his last.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
BOOM! Charles Jackson's life as he knew it ended with one rap from Judge Jean Rheinhamer's
gavel; with it, he began to evaluate every failed calculation he had ever made to outsmart the
system. In the eyes of justice, he struck out.13 He was a three-strike felon.14 The two strikes he
13 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
14 California v. Jackson #95NF1043

9
received from his day of mayhem in 1991, an attempted murder charge and robbery, had sealed
his fate in the eyes of the law. He was irredeemable.
Now, on his third strike, in 1995, he was before Judge Rheinhamer after verbally threatening and
demanding money from customers and a cashier at a Denny's in Anaheim. 15
He sat in the courtroom, silent before the judge, the gavel still ringing in his ears. In an instant,
the wood-paneled courtroom became a coffin. His paper-thin, county jail uniform would soon be
replaced by the heaviness of the California Department of Corrections blue cotton/polyester and
denim uniform. The judge had just sentenced him to life with the possibility of parole after
serving a minimum of 56 years.16 Charles Jackson was 30 years old. If he did his full term, he'd
be 85 before he could walk out of prison.
As the sheriff's deputy placed chains around his waist, feet, and hands, hopelessness settled into
his mind.
"Wow," Uncle Chuck thought as he rose from his chair and took his first steps from the
courtroom table. "Wow. I'm gone, for life––for the rest of my life." 17
15 California v. Jackson #95NF1043
16 California v. Jackson #95NF1043
17 Interview with Charles Jackson #2

10
With resolve and a disposition as hardened as the armor of an M-1 Abrams tank, he knew a
sordid system was inheriting him. He would have to shut himself down from all emotional
attachments. He began hardening his mind.18
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Anger crept in as my uncle stood atop the recreation yard at the county jail in Anaheim. He
didn't believe his crime warranted his sentence. He thought back to walking into the Anaheim
Denny's.19
My uncle had threatened people that day; he hadn't raped or murdered anyone. Instead, he
waltzed inside the Denny's and attempted to bluff his way to defraud everyone inside the
building. He used his presence and voice to intimidate the cashier and patrons. 20
He remembered walking in -- the lone speck of pepper in a sea of salt. The lily-white patrons sat
in their booths and tables and stuffed their faces with pancakes and meat. Joy and happiness
overtook them as they sat with friends and family, joking between sips of coffee, orange juice
and water. They had no worries, no hunger -- as far as he was concerned, they had no needs.
They would spend their day at Disneyland, shopping and enjoying a day of leisure.21
He was different. He had hunger pangs, and his forms of leisure were also his addictions -- his
Kryptonite: women, drugs and crime. But, at the time, he didn't consider the trauma he would
18 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
19 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
20 Interview with Charles Jackson #3, California v. Jackson #H-16074, H24711 C-File
21 Interview with Charles Jackson #3

11
inflict on those patrons, his parents, or his sisters. He failed to consider the nephews and nieces
who adored him. He didn't think about me; he didn't think at all -- he acted on impulse.22
Now he stood in the jail yard, furious he was losing his family. He knew this would be the last
time he would gaze upon the streets of Anaheim from his caged perch. Soon, he would be loaded
onto a bus and transferred to a maximum-security prison just north of the Mexican border.23
As he sat shackled to a cramped seat on a Greyhound bus, Uncle Chuck rode toward the Richard
J. Donovan Correctional Facility, preparing to transform his mind. He would devote himself to
becoming the animal as the system saw him -- H24711.24 He braced himself to be surrounded by
men in a place where violence is the foundational rule of survival. He faced two choices: hunt or
be hunted. "I was not going to be a victim. That wasn't an option," he said.25
As the bus wound through the desert nothingness of California backroads, he wrapped his mind
around becoming a heartless, callous, full-fledged gang member.26 H24711 would have no other
goals than upholding the prison politics and orders of the Crip or racial card (a cohort of
individuals with the same affiliation) he would inherit.27 He would collect debts, forge shanks,
smuggle and distribute drugs, and stab anyone he had to. He committed to doing whatever was
necessary to survive.28
22 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
23 Interview with Charles Jackson #3, California v. Jackson #95NF1043
24 H24711 C-File
25 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
26 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
27 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
28 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3

12
Chapter Three: Living in Hell
A year after he exited prison, my uncle visited me at USC. "God forgives, but the prison system
doesn't," Uncle Chuck told me.29
He leaned back, relaxed in his chair, calmly in our first-floor study room inside Leavey library,
with his blue Dodger cap, a fresh, snow-white T-shirt, and blue jeans.
Although the names of the prisons changed -- Calipatria, Centinela, Corcoran, Donovan, Folsom,
Ironwood, Lancaster and Salinas – Uncle Chuck's surroundings remained the same.30
For 26 years, a 70 square foot concrete and steel shoebox held my uncle's life.31
His room consisted of two cold, steel slab bunk beds pressed against gray walls plastered with
despair and hopelessness. There was a silver metallic sink for a bird bath, a metal desk, and a
toilet. His domain was limited to his outstretched arms. The chilly concrete floor was carved
with grooves from decades of metal shards sharpened against it.
He was required to check in with correctional officers everywhere he went inside the prison.
Every movement, authorized and watched in a panoptic fashion -- can be seen. A network of
guard towers, spaced about every 100 yards, scrapes the sky like toothpicks on a hors d'oeuvres
tray, with guards peering down with their Ruger Mini-14 rifles for the inmate who dared to
29 Interview with Charles Jackson #1
30 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3, H24711 C-File
31 https://www.bscc.ca.gov/wp-content/uploads/ADULT_Title_24_Part_2.pdf

13
escape or attack another inmate or officer. Every aspect of his life was dictated. A dull electronic
buzzer would assault his ears before the huge cast iron door would open or close behind him.
The prison yard, offering more access to fresh air than his cell or the rotunda, harbored the same
distinct stench in every prison.32 Decades and generations of must and misery permeated
the air. It cleaved to his hair, prison boots, and uniform, lingering with him in his cell.33
My Uncle Chuck built his name and reputation in prisons across the state. He was known for
how he conducted himself on the prison yard.34 When other Crips or Blacks had issues with
other cards, racial or gang-related, he was responsible for disciplining those who infringed upon
the rules and resolving the disputes.35
"Prison," Uncle Chuck explained, as altruistic and idealistic 20-something-year-old students
walk past our study room, "is a self-contained world with policies and rules generated by the
prison and those incarcerated, designed to correct a person's behavior with rewards and
punishments. It's a double-edged sword. You can't be good in prison."36
He gazed into the distance as if recalling a scene in a movie. Uncle Chuck's cadence is measured
and deliberate, his voice as jagged as the blades he forged.37
32 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
33 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
34 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Derrick Miles
35 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
36 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
37 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3

14
According to him, the good in prison is like the lion's prey on the Serengeti. I stared into his
eyes. They hold the gaze of a ravenous lion eyeing a hapless gazelle.
Good behavior knocks time off a sentence, but often at the expense of being targeted for acts of
violence and extortion. Conversely, the more an inmate accrues 115s -- the prison forms they
receive for violations and infractions -- the more infamy, status, and notoriety they gain.38 With
these, sometimes, come longer sentences.39
"A lot of people have been groomed since they were in the county jail," my uncle tells me.
"Knowing what to expect in prison, from homies, from your community or card, they lace you,
and they know that whatever prison you're going to, people are going to be expecting to see that
you are who you say you are. It's a feeling of acceptance because you belong to that community.
If you're good, you know that you're going to be accepted based upon your status on the street as
well as in prison. The more well-off you are, the more that people will look out for you."40
Prison is a place where alliances alleviate vulnerabilities.41 Crips and Bloods play adversaries
and allies when needed; Norteños and Sureños, warring factions of Mexican gangs, do the
same.42 Racial lines are drawn and, if crossed, often result in stabbings and, at times, death.43
Protection, drugs and alcohol, and access to cellphones are more accessible to obtain when an
inmate is aligned with a group, also called a “card.”44 But those alliances come with a price: It is
38 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
39 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
40 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
41 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
42 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
43 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
44 Interview with Charles Jackson #3

15
extremely difficult, if not impossible, to remain neutral. "You accumulate respect for getting in
trouble; however, you cause yourself more grief."45
Nothing is free in prison.46 On the contrary, incarcerated people pay for their canteen, phone
calls, and their existence with the money family members and acquaintances put on their books.
Some have hustles they utilize to have other incarcerated people pay for their needs. They pay
with their time, with their labor, and, for some unfortunate few, with their blood.47
While inside the Corcoran Segregation Housing Unit in Corcoran, California, and his transfer to
Folsom, Uncle Chuck began to see the futility of his actions. In 2010, after an officer
disrespected him, my uncle assaulted the officer, and as a result, his family visits were stripped,
and he was placed in the Segregation Housing Unit.48
After the assault on the correctional officer, Corcoran's correctional officers made his life
insufferable. They encouraged inmates who worked in the kitchen to put things in his food––
spit, semen, and pubic hair were scrambled in his eggs; shards of glass or metal shavings were
mashed in his potatoes; his meats seasoned from the dirt on the kitchen floor.49
They would withhold letters; a hurricane of officers would “toss” his cell, leaving yellow legal
papers, court documents, books, and belongings in the metal sink and toilet.50
45 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
46 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
47 Interview with Charles Jackson #3, Interview with Derrick Miles
48 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3, H24711 C-File
49 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
50 Interview with Charles Jackson #3

16
After a year in the Segregation Housing Unit, Uncle Chuck returned to the mainline, but trouble
would follow.51
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
A fellow member from Grape Street Crip asked Uncle Chuck to fashion him a burner––a prison
shank.52 My uncle found a piece of metal in the prison yard and smuggled it back into his cell.53
He spent the entire night grinding it on the concrete floor of his cell in between the correctional
officer’s count.54 The scraping could be heard in the neighboring cells on his tier, but he knew
that no one would alert any guards for fear of repercussions.
When he finished fashioning the blade, he hid it in a package of ramen noodles.55 He sent a kite,
a form of correspondence between inmates from cell to cell, to alert the recipient that the blade
would be delivered at the cafeteria the following day.56
My uncle hid the noodles with the blade among books, snacks, and personal items in his
commissary bag.57 He approached the cafeteria, confident that the recipient would be there to
receive the package. The burly white male correctional officer received him and the other
inmates and commanded that they strip for a search––they complied.58
51 Interview with Charles Jackson #3, H24711 Central File
52 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
53 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
54 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
55 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
56 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
57 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
58 Interview with Charles Jackson #3

17
After the inspection, Uncle Chuck noticed something was awry. The inmate who was supposed
to receive the package wasn’t there. No one from his card was there. He was alone.
“Jackson, come here. I didn’t search you,” the correctional officer demanded. “You already
searched me, and these are my personal effects,” Uncle Chuck responded.
“Come here! You could have anything,” the officer said. “You could have guns, tobacco, or
contraband. You could even have a weapon,” My uncle’s heart fell into his boots. He knew the
officer was on the plot, and he knew he had been betrayed.
As Uncle Chuck put his back on the wall, he attempted to negotiate with the officer. He tried to
use diplomacy and reason with him until the officer uttered, “Bring your punk ass here and give
me your shit!” In a zoo governed by respect, the officer referring to Uncle Chuck as a “punk ass”
was a mortal sin.59 My uncle now had to respond.
“What the fuck did you say,” Uncle Chuck queried. He balled up his fist and dropped the
correctional officer. Another officer nearby saw what happened and pulled out his baton as he
radioed for help. As the officers swarmed my uncle like an army of angry hornets, they peppered
him with pepper spray and beat over his body with their batons. Once they got Uncle Chuck on
the ground and secured his hands behind his back, one officer attempted to hit him in the eye
with the tip of the baton, which surely would have put his eye out. Seeing the officer rear up and
aim for his eye, Uncle Chuck lifted his head at the last possible moment, and the baton split his
top lip, which required over two dozen stitches—they never found the blade.
59 Interview with Charles Jackson #3

18
“They beat the shit out of me. I mean, literally, they beat the shit out of me,” Uncle Chuck
recalls. He remembers soiling himself after being kicked in the liver. Urine, feces and blood
trickled like a stream down the hallway.60
"I realized then that my dedication towards the hood and negativity got me nothing. My family is
looking out for me in every aspect; their love is unconditional. So, I realized if I keep doing this
negative stuff, it's going to put me back in ad seg (administrative segregation or solitary
confinement). I want to keep doing what is good so I can be able to attain freedom, or any type
of perks or visits, or get to a different location to where I could get visits from my mother or my
sister. I knew then that I had to change my whole behavior path."
When his mother's visits suddenly ceased, it left an unfillable chasm inside Uncle Chuck. Her
absence weighed heavily on him, casting a shadow over his days. He learned the heartbreaking
truth: his mother had lost her two-decade long battle with cancer. The news hit him like a tidal
wave, engulfing him in a whirlwind of grief and longing. Each memory of her became a
bittersweet reminder of the love they shared, and the void left in her absence.
“I could never get a transfer when I wanted to go see my mother when she was alive. That
haunted me more so than anything. Knowing that because I didn’t change sooner, I wasn’t able
to get an honorable transfer to accommodate my location to where I can get her to visit,” Uncle
Chuck said. “It impacted me in every way because she was unconditional as far as her love, and
she did everything she could for me, until she couldn’t do any more.”
60 Interview with Charles Jackson #3, H24711 C-File

19
When his time at Corcoran concluded, he would be transferred to Folsom, where he began to see
the futility of gangbanging.61 Walking on the yard there, he realized his gang didn't love him. He
saw envy, jealousy and contempt in their eyes. He began questioning the rush of euphoria he felt
after fighting or stabbing someone. Committing crime began to lose its stronghold over him and
its luster. He saw a system of manipulation and exploitation he no longer wanted to be part of.62
With a review date with the parole board looming, Uncle Chuck was encouraged to turn his
attention towards his probationary report, a collection of 115s and files that restricts people from
being released from prison or going to a minimal security yard or facility. His file had nothing
positive to show.63
“‘You don’t have nothing good to show. You don’t even need to go. Don’t even go,’ that’s what
they said,” Uncle Chuck recalls. “So, it didn’t even make any sense for me trying at that time
because I’m going to be refused. From that initial point, I knew that I needed to change my
probationary report.”
Witnessing the transformation of an incarcerated relative urged him further.
“Once I got with another relative of mine, I saw everything he had achieved. He had group
sponsored membership of A.A., N.A., he had Men of Honor, he had so many positive things he
was showing on his record, compared to what I was showing. Everything I was showing was
negative, and I recognized that I needed to make a change,” Uncle Chuck said.
61 Interview with Charles Jackson #3, H24711 C-File
62 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
63 Interview with Charles Jackson #3

20
Chapter Four: A HART to succeed
Uncle Chuck loved the martial arts, and his devotion to them helped guide him to a pathway of
freedom. In 2018, while Uncle Chuck was on the B-yard, in cell #112, in Lancaster, his cellmate
and Kali Escrima, a Filipino martial art, partner, Hakim Dennis, helped steer him down his final
path toward freedom.64 Uncle Chuck asked Dennis to tell him about the organization and the
groups his cellmate was attending. He picked up the colorful tri-fold piece of paper and opened it
with his thumb and index finger. He lost the tip of his right index finger in a freak accident
repairing a washing machine while serving at Lancaster State Penitentiary.65
Unbeknownst to him, Uncle Chuck had discovered the trail of breadcrumbs leading to the AntiRecidivism Coalition and freedom. Another catalyst for change––his mother fell terminally ill
with cancer, and prison officials barred him from going to her funeral.
But before he could follow that path, a few weeks after Uncle Chuck found the origami folded
brochure, there would be one more near-fatal interruption when members of his Crip card set
him up to be stabbed by Bloods because they grew angered by his leadership. He knew
something was awry when all his comrades walked inside the building, leaving him alone on the
yard. The internal alarm was triggered in his mind.66
64 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
65 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, H24711 C-File
66 Interview with Charles Jackson #2

21
He sensed danger when a group approached him with their right hands concealed behind their
backs. They attempted to shake his hand with their left hands. He had seen this before—
numerous times, he was on the opposite side of this interaction.
He sprang into action, using his concrete-like knuckles to knock out the assailants.67 First, the
man closest to him. Crack! He shattered the man’s jaw, knocking him backward. The other men
reached into their rectums to retrieve their shanks. Like an old Batman fight sequence, “poof,”
“bam,” “pow!” As the adrenaline coursed through his veins, stomping out the terror that
attempted to grip him, he heard a faint sound that meant danger was more pressing than the
brandished prison shanks. “CLICK-CLACK!” The guard in one of the towers chambered a
round in their mini-14, and they were planning to shoot to kill.68
My uncle pounced on the ground, hoping he had enough time to escape the crosshairs of the
tower’s marksman.
He got down in time. He was safe. He had escaped. Now, he decided, he would devote his entire
life to education.
———————————————————————–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Uncle Chuck applied himself to his studies; he thrived like a duck to water. He forced everything
within him into being the best student he could become. Now a GED tutor and a student and
tutor for Lassen Community College, my uncle began to see the destruction and futility in his
67 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, H24711 Central File
68 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3

22
association with his gang. He began to want more for himself. He reached out to Celeste at the
Anti-Recidivism Coalition in this desire for more information.69
Since 2013, the agency has helped 50,000 currently and formerly incarcerated individuals
throughout California gain perspective and structure.70 "The ARC has provided me with the
skills and opportunity to live a new, free life. Without them, I wouldn't have the hope or develop
the skills I need to be successful," Chris Wedel, an employee of the ARC, told me. However, he
added, once a person decides to change, they must stand up to their card and the rest of the yard
to let them know they are seeking a new way of life. Then, hopefully, one has built enough
cachet and respect to go straight.71
Education crystallized Uncle Chuck’s metamorphosis. He first had to define who he was and his
values in a quest to learn. So, he began to learn diplomacy, U.S. and world history, political
theory, and English. He learned about slavery and abolitionists and connected his plight with his
ancestors. He no longer would be a slave–to crime or otherwise.72
“I got myself in here, I’ve got to get myself out,” Uncle Chuck said.73
The agency’s Criminal and Gang Anonymous groups forced him to come to grips with the pain
he inflicted upon his victims, his family, his community –– and himself. Next, he dug deep into
his past and started to excise his childhood trauma and demons: he attended Alcoholics
69 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3, H24711 Central File
70 Interview with Jacob Brevard, Director of Inside Programs
71 Interview with Chris Wedel
72 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
73 Interview with Charles Jackson #1

23
Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous, and he went to every self-help group the institution
offered. He was determined to remake himself.74
However, as he began to grow and seek help, Uncle Chuck discovered the strength latent within
him. As his paradigm shifted, he walked a thin line of one foot in and out of the game--until
2010, when the coalition renewed his hope.
The Anti-Recidivism Coalition, founded by Hollywood producer Scott Budnick after he learned
teenagers were sentenced to life, seeks to end mass incarceration in California.75
“I started ARC because I was working with youth in the juvenile hall, some of whom were being
sentenced to life and getting decades in prison,” Budnick said. “For those that were going to
prison for life, it just felt fundamentally unfair to sentence a young person to die in prison, and I
felt like there needed to be a lot of changes in our laws and our policies to recognize how young
people are different. I thought the most powerful force to achieve that would be the people who
were formerly incarcerated themselves.”
To ensure communities are "safe, healthy, and whole," they empower the currently and formerly
incarcerated to thrive through a support network, comprehensive reentry service, and
opportunities to advocate for policy change.76 Through their grassroots policy advocacy, they are
74 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3
75 A Message from Scott Budnick,
https://issuu.com/antirecidivism/docs/arc_2021_impact_report_?utm_medium=referral&utm_
source=antirecidivism.org
76
https://issuu.com/antirecidivism/docs/arc_2021_impact_report_?utm_medium=referral&utm_source=antirecidivi
sm.org

24
dedicated to transforming the criminal justice system to be more just and equitable for all
people.77
My uncle became one of over 800 people that year that the coalition would assist inside prisons
throughout the state.78
In 2021, the Hope and Redemption Team (HART) provided 6,631 service hours to 576
participants.79 In addition, the ARC touted a $15.4 million budget, a 43 percent increase over the
prior year through partnerships, donations, government contracts, COVID relief support, and
newly funded programs.80
What began as a group of 25 people now boasts a staff of over 2,500 members and offers a bevy
of programming—housing, a ride home from prison, workforce and education, supportive
services, inside programming, creatives, the Ventura training center, and specialized services for
women.
Uncle Chuck took advantage of the inside programming. The Criminal and Gang Anonymous
program helped him abate his addiction to crime through anger and stress management. "CGA
helped me kill the devil inside me," my uncle said. He completed a narcotics anonymous
77
https://issuu.com/antirecidivism/docs/arc_2021_impact_report_?utm_medium=referral&utm_source=antirecidivi
sm.org
78
https://issuu.com/antirecidivism/docs/arc_2021_impact_report_?utm_medium=referral&utm_source=antirecidivi
sm.org
79
https://issuu.com/antirecidivism/docs/arc_2021_impact_report_?utm_medium=referral&utm_source=antirecidivi
sm.org
80
https://issuu.com/antirecidivism/docs/arc_2021_impact_report_?utm_medium=referral&utm_source=antirecidivi
sm.org

25
program and another focused on victim awareness. My uncle would go a decade with an
unblemished record: no alcohol, fights, weapons, drugs, or assaults on officers or incarcerated
persons.81
Pruno, alcohol made in prison cells from fruit, was readily available.82 His homies brewed and
distributed it throughout the prison, and he was offered a cup on various occasions. But now,
through A.A., training in martial arts, and being a devoted Christian, Uncle Chuck stayed on the
path of clarity. He saw and loved his progress and refused to allow anyone or anything to push
him back to a course he had abandoned. He wouldn't let alcohol or other temptations undermine
the goals he had tirelessly strived to accomplish.83
Uncle Chuck no longer wanted to act like an animal. Instead, he began to find beauty in life. "I
began to see how to improve myself, which kept me focused. I found that worth fighting for," he
said.
He wanted to get his bachelor's degree and become a father.84 Uncle Chuck started to dream
beyond the confines of his cell and prison yard, past the fields of barren nothingness, to the
distant lands he learned about in his studies.85 My uncle wanted to be human; humans were not
meant to live in cages.
81 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
82 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Chris Wedel
83 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
84 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
85 Interview with Charles Jackson #3

26
On April 7, 2021, H24711 went before the California parole board.86 He was prepared, but there
was fear of the unknown.
“The unexpected, the unknown, there’s always a fear for anyone; getting in front of a group of
people that can control your life, control your destiny–refuse you, or approve you. I still had my
education, I had ARC, Sam Lewis, I had a letter of support from Project Rebound. I had so many
people that was willing to give me support based upon my current mental viewpoints in life,”
Uncle Chuck said.
He sat behind an amber-colored desk in a matching wooden chair.87 The white-walled, concrete
brick room wreaked of rejection and despair. As the white noise of the yellow industrial lights
hummed, he sat next to his state-sponsored attorney, sporting an oversized black suit and a cheap
tie.88
He sat before an all-white parole board89—like the patrons in that Denny's he terrorized 26 years
earlier. But, this time, Charles Jackson was different -- he had grown. He was no longer an
adrenaline junkie motivated by crime. Instead, he was older and introspective. His jet-black
cornrow braids of his youth were cut off; his salt and pepper scalp told tales of his growth,
wisdom, and maturation.
My Uncle Chuck was a man.
86 Interview with Charles Jackson #3, H24711 Central File
87 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
88 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3, H24711 Central File
89 Interview with Charles Jackson #3

27
In his gruff voice, my Uncle Chuck told the board everything – how he had lived a life
influenced by gangbanging and crime.90 He expressed remorse and shame for entering Denny's
and inflicting trauma upon those patrons.91 Finally, he showed the parole board his growth -- his
certificates of completion from life-changing groups, his decade of good behavior devoid of
115s, his associate's degree, and honor roll certificates. And the most potent weapon in his
arsenal -- the letters of support from family and the community he had built through the
coalition.92
The president of the parole committee, a chubby, clean-shaven man, told my uncle they would
deliberate before making their decision. When they reconvened, my uncle stared down at the
brown wooden table and listened to their verdict. "Mr. Jackson, the board finds you suitable for
parole," the president said. It took six words, "We, the jurors, find you guilty," to send him away
– it took nine words to free him.
It took immense self-control to keep my uncle in his seat. In his mind, he went back to that
Denny's. He imagined running into a younger version of himself and telling him what to do
differently. He remembered all the missed moments of seeing his nieces and nephews grow. He
recalled not being at his mother's bedside as she drew her last breath. Finally, after 26 years, he
would be free. The hellacious nightmare of being an inmate would soon come to an end. Come
November 2021, my uncle would again taste the sweetness of freedom.93
90 Interview with Charles Jackson #3
91 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
92 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, H24711 Central File
93 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, H24711 Central File

28
The parole board delivered a caveat: One slip-up would overturn their decision. They
recommended he keep the news to himself, as other inmates could grow jealous and lash out.94
He darted out of the room, through the gate, across the yard, through to the rotunda, to his yard,
and promptly ignored the parole board’s advice: He told his comrades and correctional officers
he was found suitable for parole.95
He wasn't afraid of suppressing everything, and he wasn't scared of the jealousy that would brew
in the hearts and minds of a sordid few.
But the weeks and months that would ensue were not pleasant. The Internal Security Unit would
enter his cell like ravenous wolves, tossing his cell like a tornado for the next three months,
looking for contraband, weapons, or materials to keep him at Calipatria.96
Prison intelligence had deemed my uncle a radical Muslim, whom they could indefinitely send to
a federal prison. With freedom in the reaches of his clutches, he grew frustrated with how his
emancipation plans were seemingly derailed.97
He would deal with the harassment and erroneous claims until the "woman in black," an
unnamed staffer who signified the end of life as an inmate but was seen by many as the Angel of
Freedom, came to sign his release papers.98
94 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
95 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
96 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
97 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, H24711 Central File
98 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, Interview with Charles Jackson #3

29
Chapter Five: A Taste of Freedom
July 30th began as any other day. The kitchen hummed as workers prepared to make breakfast.
Correctional officers circled their pods, counting heads, preparing the handover for the next
oncoming shift. The smell of coffee began to creep on the tier as people ingeniously brewed their
cups of morning joe — with lead from pencils, metal tins and stripped wiring, others with tea
kettles.
Uncle Chuck passed the things he accumulated throughout the years to be sold and divvied up by
associates: cans of instant coffee, packs of ramen, honey buns, books and a laundry list of items
he got from the canteen. He opted not to eat breakfast because he wanted the taste of freedom to
season his next meal.99
He put on his prison blues, cinched the pants around his waist, and pulled on his shirt, socks, and
boots – first, the right, tied it, then the left, for the last time.100
He gathered what he would take with him, documents, pictures, and letters, rolled up his
mattress and pillow, and left his cell – for the last time.
101
He checked in with the correctional officers, the same ones he requested permission to move
about the prison for countless days – for the last time. They pressed the same buzzer that he
heard buzz every day for 26 years – for the last time.
102
99 Interview with Charles Jackson #1
100 Interview with Charles Jackson #1
101 Interview with Charles Jackson #1
102 Interview with Charles Jackson #1, Interview with Charles Jackson #2

30
The door flung open and shut again. He walked through the rotunda to the prison yard – for the
last time. He walked through the stench of the yard and felt it fade as he anticipated the free air
his lungs would soon inhale.103
He checked into R&R, receiving and release, where he knew the processing procedures as an
inmate at countless prisons.104 For the last time. He exchanged his prison uniform for an
oversized, long-sleeved, plain gray cotton shirt, baggy gray basketball shorts, and gray calflength socks. A black Swoosh clung to his all-white Nikes.105
Finally, on that cool sunny morning just before noon, he enacted the scene he had long dreamed
about: Charles Jackson, Jr. walked out of prison. There was Jason Clark, a short, middle-aged
white man, a staffer from the Anti-Recidivism Coalition, to give him a ride home. Uncle Chuck
preferred the coalition’s ride over certain family members from nearby Riverside. That way, he
would avoid the potential of any run-ins with the law that would return him to prison.106
With his newfound freedom, Uncle Chuck already planned his first meals as a free man – a
Grand Slam from IHOP, a pastrami sandwich from Langer's Deli, and a steak dinner. First, he
checked off the IHOP in El Centro, California.
He made it to the city limits full of optimism, hope, and focus and made it to the ARC
headquarters with the determination to never return to prison. After an interview for membership
103 Interview with Charles Jackson #2
104 Interview with Charles Jackson #1
105 Interview with Charles Jackson #2, H24711 Central File
106 Interview with Charles Jackson #2

31
and orientation, Uncle Chuck looked at me and said, "Man, I just want a pastrami sandwich."
We were heading to Langer’s.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
We went down the elevator, through the lobby that smells like teenage cologne, to my car. My
uncle looked at my BMW, "Nephew, this you?" I cracked a sly grin and chuckled to myself. I
had my uncle's approval. As we got in my car, he put on his seatbelt. "It's been a while since I've
done this."
For the next hour, we drove around downtown Los Angeles. I watched him gaze at the tops of
skyscrapers and pedestrians as they meandered past our car. Then, he peered toward the tops of
the downtown buildings to the blue sky. I was overjoyed having my uncle by my side. But, for
him, he was soaking in every second of freedom. I choked on my glee. I didn't want to appear
too giddy.
We arrived at the intersection of 7th and Alvarado, across from MacArthur Park and parked at a
meter. The neighborhood, now overrun with rivaling Latino gangs – the Westside Barrio 18
Streets and the Westside Crazy Riders 13 – struck my uncle by surprise.
"I see things have changed," he said.
"Yeah, it's like this damn near all over the city," I replied. "Everywhere you go now is
somebody's hood. I know I don't have to tell you, keep your head on a swivel."
On July 30, 2021, just seven hours after his release from Calipatria State Prison, Uncle Chuck
and I walked inside Langer's Deli. We took the first booth on cool, brown, riveted faux-leather

32
benches, separated by a wooden table fixed onto a speckled black, gray and white shellacked
floor.
"So, I hear you graduated from UCLA and are getting your master’s from USC," he said with
pride.
"Yeah, but I haven't done much -- yet," I said. "What's next for you, Unc?"
"Well, I see my sister and my nephew have experienced that Trojan greatness. I'm going to go to
Cal State Fullerton through Project Rebound, and who knows, maybe I'll get my master’s from
USC, too."
"Unc, whatever you put your mind to, I know you will do it," I responded. "Man, I'm happy to
have you home."
Our social and incarceration systems function as a journey into the heart of human experience,
fraught with complexity and often shadowed by harsh realities. We hear tales of justice, of right
and wrong, yet the system designed to uphold these ideals often feels like a distant, impersonal
machine.
The coldness of the concrete walls and the sterile steel bars contrasts sharply with the warmth of
the spirits that inhabit these concrete coffins. The institution claims to be a place of rehabilitation
but has proven to be a warehouse for lost souls, stripped of their humanity and left to navigate a
labyrinth of rules and regimens. Prisons are a stark reminder of how the system, meant to protect,
often dehumanizes instead.

33
Uncle Chuck's story is one among many, a narrative woven into the fabric of our society. He was
more than his inmate number; he was a brother, a son, an uncle––a friend. Yet, within those
walls, his identity was reduced to a mere statistic in a sprawling, bureaucratic web. It's a system
that seems to forget that each person it ensnares carries a lifetime of stories, dreams, and
potential.
The social structures outside the prison walls are equally intricate, unrelenting and unforgiving.
For many, like Uncle Chuck, the path leading to incarceration is paved with systemic inequities –
poverty, lack of access to education, and limited opportunities. It's as if society sets a trap, and
once ensnared, breaking free becomes a Herculean task. The cycle perpetuates itself, generation
after generation, like an unbroken chain.
And the aftershock of reentry, where former inmates are thrust back into a world that has moved
on without them, forces the formerly incarcerated to carry the invisible scars of their
confinement, navigating a landscape that remains indifferent to their struggles.
Both the social and incarceration systems need reformation, and should focus on rehabilitation
and reintegration, not just punishment.
“Rehabilitation should be our primary focus here in the prison system,” Tristan Lemon, warden
of the Pleasant Valley State Penitentiary said. “In my experience, it comes down to allowing
someone who is in prison to have control over things that they can have, which doesn't come
with the prison environment inherently. For me, it all begins with the very small stuff––giving
people options for the kind of jobs they want to do while they’re in prison, or education

34
opportunities, and offering those choices and allowing people to use that discretion to go to
programs.”
Organizations like the Anti-Recidivism Coalition offer a glimmer of hope, showing that with the
right support, individuals can rebuild their lives, contribute to their communities, and break the
cyclical chains of incarceration.
“I think ARC and programs similar to it, are so important because I think it goes to that peer
support, that peer education, where you have a facilitator, and you have people in the room that
all have similar experiences,” Lemon said.
Uncle Chuck’s journey is a testament to resilience and the human spirit's ability to rise above
adversity. It's a call to action for us all to look beyond the surface, to see the person behind the
correction’s number, and to work towards a more compassionate and just system. Only then can
we begin to heal the deep wounds and build a society that truly offers second chances.
Yet, in this deli, I felt anxious. I refused to hold eye contact because I didn't want him to see how
I desperately yearned for him in my life; how fearful I was that his return would be marred by
my vulnerability. Since my father's death in 2013, I have been clamoring to have someone fill
that void. Trying to tamp down my emotions, I opened my phone's Twitter and Instagram apps.
I wanted to ask him about the struggles of becoming a man. I wanted to share my fears of feeling
insignificant and inadequate. I needed to ask for a hug. But I sat there scrolling on my phone,
attempting to appear "strong."

35
But for now, Uncle Chuck and I are simply enjoying our pastrami sandwiches in our booth at
Langer's. "I've thought about this for 26 years," my uncle says as he picks up his sandwich. For
me, the sandwiches are a hyped-up culinary experience; for him, the sandwich is the
manifestation of liberty. Each bite for him is a savory taste of freedom.
I see moments of suffering, pain, and regret with each bite. They make him relatable and human.
With each falling crumb, I see how he has labored his soul and failed; I see how his life has been
mired in moments of misery, which serve as a cautionary tale of what we all hope to avoid.
His success rests upon his desire to be self-motivated and self-sufficient. He will not blame any
future failures on anyone else.
True character is forged in the agony of defeat and loss. Charles Jackson, Jr. has swallowed the
bitter pill of 26 years lost.
"This tastes just like I remember it," he says.
Every time the door opens, we pause eating and look to see if a threat is coming into the
restaurant. We are both ready to pounce if needed; we have been trained to deal with threats.
Both of us are institutionalized.
"I'm achieving a goal. I'm working on giving myself clarity and identity as a person of reasoning
and understanding."
He polishes off his sandwich, wraps up his pickle, pushes his plate away, and thanks me. He
shows a hint of a smile.

36
“Freedom means everything,” he says. “Freedom means the right to just be who I am within my
own space. It also means that I am obligated to the world and society to do the right thing –– I
have freedom of choice.”
Crime is no longer Uncle Chuck’s Kryptonite–he is no longer addicted to the adrenaline rush of
theft. The potholes in his life of streets he ran have been filled. The gang life that once defined
him, no longer has a grip of his mind. Uncle Chuck has been redeemed; he has been reformed.
He is rehabilitated.
Superman has returned.

37
Bibliography
“2021 Impact Report by Anti-Recidivism Coalition (ARC) - Issuu.” Issuu.com, 7 July 2022,
issuu.com/antirecidivism/docs/arc_2021_impact_report_?utm_medium=referral&utm_
source=antirecidivism.org.
Anti-Recidivism Coalition. “A Message from Scott Budnick.” YouTube, 24 Apr. 2023,
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Yw_DGmgfRs.
ARC. “Staff - Anti Recidivism Coalition.” Antirecidivism.org, 1 Dec. 2021,
antirecidivism.org/who-we-are/staff/.
Board of State and Community Corrections. “2013 California Building Code California Code of
Regulations.” Https://Www.bscc.ca.gov/WpContent/Uploads/ADULT_Title_24_Part_2.Pdf, 2013, www.bscc.ca.gov/wpcontent/uploads/ADULT_Title_24_Part_2.pdf.
Brevard, Jacob. Interview with Jacob Brevard. 12 July 2023.
California Department Corrections and Rehabilitation, State of California. “H24711 Central
File.” Received by Charles Jackson, Jr.
California v. Charles Allen Jackson #95NF1043. 3 Nov. 1995.
California v. Charles Allen Jackson #H-16074. 22 Jan. 1992.
Jackson, Jr., Charles. Interview #1. 30 Oct. 2022.
---. Interview #2. 30 Mar. 2023.
---. Interview #3. 5 Apr. 2023.
Lambkins, Madelynn. Phone Call with Madelynn Lambkins. 29 July 2021.
Miles, Derrick. Interview with Derrick Miles. 30 July 2021.
Wedel, Chris. Interview with Chris Wedel. 30 July 2021.

Abstract (if available)

Abstract "Life After Life" is a compelling narrative of redemption that delves into Charles Jackson, Jr.'s incarceration experience and personal journey. Through intimate and reflective storytelling, it explores the challenges and transformations encountered during his time in prison and beyond. This account provides a nuanced and empathetic look at the impact of incarceration on individuals and their families, highlighting the enduring hope and resilience that can lead to profound personal change and societal reintegration.

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Creator Lambkins, Eric Fitzgerald, II (author)

Core Title Life after life

School Annenberg School for Communication

Degree Master of Arts

Degree Program Specialized Journalism

Degree Conferral Date 2024-08

Publication Date 06/13/2024

Defense Date 06/07/2024

Publisher Los Angeles, California (original), University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag anti-recidivism,anti-recidivism coalition,incarceration,OAI-PMH Harvest,Prison,reintegration

Format theses (aat)

Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Tolan, Sandy (committee chair), Hirsch, Afua (committee member), Mittelstaedt, Alan (committee member)

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