D-Block: An Unforgettable Education

Hotep,

My first full day as a death row prisoner (7/16/1997) began with an education that continues to influence my way of dealing with other individuals sharing this circumstance.  

My high profile case made me known to the row long before I set foot on D-block.  At age 28, I was one of the youngstas on the block.  I received many greetings, but expected none to be genuine.  After all, this is prison.

My education stated when the newspaper was delivered the morning following my arrival.  An old head named “C-Dog” held up the front page and said, “Mann, you big time now youngblood.” Seeing my face on the front page caused my stomach to twist in knots.  

I refused to allow my internal damage to become evident to the strangers I was now forced to cohabitate with.  As if it was nothing more than Allen Iverson’s latest stat line, I took a seat at the table and began reading the public’s perception of me.

Twenty-one sets of eyes were beaming on my presence.  There was an air of silence that forced my heart rate to increase.  The words on the newspaper were getting blurry, and I could feel sweat beads forming on my temples.  The lies in the headlines were getting the best of me, until Willie E. Fisher sat across the table from me and casually introduced himself while scanning the sports page.

In our first conversation, “Fish” admitted to stabbing his son’s mother while under the heavy influence of crack cocaine; America’s nightmare.  His regrets were sincere enough to bring my heart rate back to normal.  The words on the paper became clear again, and in no time, “Fish” was breaking down the entire appellate process. 

He would be the first cat, in the pen, I developed any level of trust with.  He was someone that always sought the good in another individual.  He was a constant reminder that everyone is a living testimony.  He taught me not to rush to judgment before the Creator has had His final say.  The strength in his spiritual connection with the Creator was undeniable four short years later.

It was 2001.  “Fish” received his execution date early in the New Year.  The C.O.’s were clocking him hard –observing his every move.  The chaplain began coming around more frequently – offering spiritual guidance, but Fish was well equipped.  He was counseling everyone he knew would be affected by his execution.  Word is bond!

I was standing at his cell window – enjoying the distinctive taste of a black cherry flavored Black and Mild cigar, when the chaplain made his presence known.  With shock in his voice, he asked, “What’s the celebration guys?”

Fisher and I both knew why he was standing at the threshold of DL-204, inhaling our second hand smoke.  “Everyday is worth celebrating when you’re alive to acknowledge it, chaplain.” His words hit the chaplain like a ton of bricks.

The chaplain responded by politely asking me to leave while he and Fish discussed some “personal matters.” Before I could exhale, “Fish” requested that I remain.  “Anything you have to say may be beneficial to my brother down the line, chaplain.”

I stood there listening to the funeral arrangements and the cost his fam would be required to pay to obtain his corpse, after his execution was carried out.  The morbidity of the conversation was calmed by the way Fish handled himself.  I was in awe.

The day that Fish walked out of D-block for the last time (3/7/2001), a part of me went to the deathwatch with him.  A part of me died on 3/9/2001, but the death of Willie E. Fisher will not surmount the four-year education I received watching and listening to him live.  Ya heard?

Still Livin,’

MannofStat

Copyright © 2014 by Leroy Elwood Mann