The Gift

This has been a year where the golden rants from my soul were not exclusive to my W2TM audience. Your support has been phenomenal, but here is the other side of my expressions appearing on your screens:

On 12/18/14, Lynden Harris and her Hidden Voices team shared an incredible holiday meal with us; string beans sautéed in a mouth-watering sauce, sweet potato and egg plant pies, turkey, homemade chocolate chip cookies, and dark chocolate that was so hard it had to be cut with a knife.  Word is bond.

Lynden gave each of us gift-wrapped writing paper and ink pens.  Needless to say, these gifts didn’t last long.  I went through the paper before spring was in the air, and I am writing this entry with a state-issued BiC.  Real talk.

It felt good to sit at a table eating with a fork and knife while taking my time and engaging in some wholesome conversations with good people.

We began the New Year with a project in which we created individual life maps.  My map resembles a Monopoly board.  I call it Concrete Exposure – a hard life.  This exhibit – along with copies of our Lethal Injection magazine – were featured at the Re-visioning Justice Conference, at Vanderbilt University this past April.  It was monumental!

Our exhibits were a hit, and caught the eye of a top tier criminal defense attorney named Bryan Stevenson.  In hindsight, I can clearly see it was inevitable for he and I to share the same space.  Feel me?

My Born Day (7/22/15) was simply incredible.  I hailed victorious at our inaugural Story Slam.  I performed a piece called, Between the Lines.  Telling a story about my teenage ambition to win my first trophy caught the ears and eyes of accomplished writer/novelist, Allan Gurganus, another golden moment where my soul was freed from bondage.  Ya heard?

On 8/17/15, I met Bryan Stevenson.  I stood before him and performed one of the most powerful pieces I have ever written.  The experience was surreal.  I stumbled over my words in the first stanza, but Reverend Ann Beck preached a sermon the day before titled, “Redo.” And that is exactly what I did.  

It felt like I fumbled the ball at my own first yard line; recovered it; then ran the distance of 99 yards to “pay dirt.” Everyone was screaming, touchdown!!  Afterwards, Bryan Stevenson autographed a copy of his book, Just Mercy, for me:

“To Leroy,

With respect, appreciation and hope for justice.  Keep your eyes on the prize.  Hold on!

Bryan Stevenson”

This holiday season is already something special for me.  The fall session began with six students from Duke University being added to my creative writing Fam.  We have been reading and discussing the literary works of James Baldwin, Toni Morrison, Richard Wright and M. Nourbese Philip.  

We are a circle of friends defying the odds.  Chris, Caleb, Megan, David, Zack and Mike bring a presence to our class that is a gift wrapped in words.  Asante Sana my friends!

By the time this goes to press, six death row prisoners (Team FFLOW) will share their lives in a play called, Serving Life.  It is an incredible way to close out a life-changing year.  I’ll tell you all about it in 2016.  Happy Holidays!

One,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2015 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Misplaced Anatomy

“Racism is a visceral experience that dislodges brains, blocks airways, rips muscle, extracts organs, cracks bones, breaks teeth.  You must never look away from this.  

You must always remember that the sociology, the history, the economics, that graphs, the charts, the regressions all land with great violence, upon the body.”

Ta-Nehisi Coates 

New York Times bestselling author

This is my block.  That is my seat.  Here is my assigned area to do this or that.  This type of dialogue in a penitentiary setting is the repetitive torture of being dead and alive to know it.  A mind without a body, a fighting spirit with no host to influence.

Some days I wonder why exercising is even on my agenda: push-ups, leg lifts, and running the stairs.  For what?  To maintain a physique that belongs to someone other than myself?  The paradox of losing my body is a psychological monster.  

The arrest warrant reveals that my body was snatched on a cold December evening in 1995. But a deep introspection from a death row prison cell 20 years later, leads me to believe that my body was lost long before the date on the state’s document of ownership.

I spent my most formative years “reppin” Poplar Street.  The violence that was played out up and down Poplar Street felt like a natural existence as long as I kept waking up.  My home girl, Eleanora Fagan (Billy Holiday) once exhaled the truth in a song called, “Strange Fruit.” 

She spoke of black bodies staining the leaves of Poplar trees.  And here I am, claiming ownership of a street that bore the name of the same tree, which showcased the decimation, brutalization and humiliation of black lives that mattered.

At that time, North Philly was the only world that mattered.  For the longest it was all I thought I needed to know.  

I guess it’s because I was ripe fruit rolling through those streets, a body that was lost. Simply put; I was fruit for crows to pluck, except these scavengers made bodies fly with gats and batons.

These were crows that would impede the progression of an ice cream truck to do bodily harm to its driver.  Birds of prey that peck away at the psyche of a ten-year-old African American boy forcibly placed in a jail cell beneath a sold out stadium. 

This same body survived long enough to seek refuge in the U.S. Navy.  An anatomy suited for the concrete and asphalt foundations of urban America, grew “sea legs” as a means of navigating the mood swings of the Pacific Ocean.  While on dry land, it desecrated itself with alcohol, marijuana and countless twirls with heterosexual relations.

Yeah, my body was lost long before it was destined to succumb to a syringe filled with poison; “great violence” upon a body that hasn’t been mine for quite some time.  Every day gets more painful living without a body.  

The memories of what was, can only keep you pain-free for so long. Therefore, this throng of lost bodies – the body of death row – has become a surrogate anatomy, in which my mind can flourish and my soul can be nourished with the small increments of compassion.

This is the truth of a walking corpse becoming a life-changing experience – standing between the world and me.  I am no longer lost, only misplaced.  I have found who I was meant to be.

100,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2015 by Leroy Elwood Mann

A Sweet Heart: The Flavor of Realness

What if the blink of an eye was worth 75 years?  What would you want to hold onto before your next blink?  Would it be something tangible or would it be the untouchable thrill of success?  Respect, maybe?

As I continue to awaken and my age grows, my memories have much greater value.  Memories of what I once deemed as “the best of times,” lose their significance when the other people involved no longer share the bridge of communication when times get real.  Na mean?  So, if I had one blink left, I would hold onto a friendship cultivated in a garage that was converted into a candy store.

You see, a lot like the rhythm of a haiku, a union between two people can be ambiguous to the casual observer, however, within what may appear to be an unorthodox union, every syllable or action has a profound significance that can only be felt by those privy to its intended meaning.

Rochelle was a teenage girl on a mission.  She calculated, packaged and distributed licorice whips, Now & Laters, and Charms lollipops in the truest entrepreneurial fashion.  As a frequent customer of her establishment, I embraced my addiction to the edible sweets displayed on a foldout table, acting as a service counter.  But it was her sweet heart that compelled an adolescent Mann to remain long after our $.75 transaction had been finalized.

Her place of business gave me a reason to share her space.  At times her older brothers would chase or literally carry me out of her store.  To no avail, I always came back more determined than before.  It just felt right being around her.  There were levels to our friendship and I made the early efforts to keep climbing.  Then somehow, I became the person that no longer shared the bridge of communication.  SMH.

Decades later, the sweetness of that diligent teenage Sista continues to feed my addiction.  Jolly Ranchers, Hershey’s Kisses and Hot Chocolate are merely metaphorical attributes of the rush Rochelle infuses into my existence. The taste of our reconnection makes me a better Mann, indeed.  And her sweetness will not permit me to stop blinking.  Feel me?

Chelle, I am humbled by the reconstruction of the bridge that brings me closer to you, the proprietess of my fix.  To many, our friendship is a haiku that frustrates more than it teaches.  Their fog surrounds us but the expression of our friendship is crystal clear to me and your extended hand is met with the most sincere gesture of gratitude.  With every blink that remains, your life will always be the unforgettable sweetness that made my existence taste-worthy.

 

Much love to you on your special day.

Happy Born Day, Ma!!

US,

Lump

NP 4Life

Copyright © 2015 by Leroy Elwood Mann

The Rising Temperature of Progression: an End Game Objective

I can remember the sound of the teakettle coming from my grandmother’s kitchen.  You could hear that whistle blowing from anywhere in the house.  The kettle’s high frequency indicated the temperature of the water was sufficed.  If your preference was tea or coffee, the hot water was ready for the transition.  It was time to make the next move.

Living on North Carolina’s death row for 18 years has felt like a ‘stand still’ of an existence.  A lot like holding that tea/coffee cup and never hearing the high pitch of the anticipated transition.  It is only natural to wonder if your next breath has any relevance; if there is anything in your cup worth savoring?

Chess master, Eugene Brown is bringing the heat to an environment where living beyond a dismal circumstance is nothing more than a spark of some far-fetched fantasy.  Long before he entered the halls of North Carolina’s ‘death house,’ Mr. Brown was using the game of chess as a megaphone to communicate life to children in desperate need of a positive transition.

At a time where our juvenile justice system has tagged some children as future criminals rather than reach out to them as future citizens, Mr. Brown has given them a reason to think before they make their next move.  His vision on both sides of the concrete walls transcends into a blue flame igniting ambition through the understanding of 64 squares.

The men of North Carolina’s death row have words that counter their propelled deployment as societal throwaways.  And, we champion this Chess master of men for the position of,

National Prison Chess Ambassador.

John D. McNeil said:

“He is a pioneer as to transcending prison life to conscious chess moves.”

Nathaniel Fair said:

“He is well versed in chess, and his prison background makes him a great spokesperson on behalf of prisoners.”

Warren Gregory said:

“It’s long overdue considering his experiences and accomplishments.  I feel he is more than qualified.”

Being condemned to die could never be a smooth transition.  It was a painful experience for me, on the brink of turning 29.  There is a deeper hurt for my comrades who have endured reproof as mere teenagers.  Are we now living in a society that allows principals and parents to only deal with one set of kids, and call the police on another set of kids?

William C. Gregory said:

“He knows prison life.  Who else better to represent us?  Mr. Brown is sincere about chess.  I have learned that my choices have repercussions, now that I understand life through the 64 squares.”

Darrell W. Maness said:

“The first time I heard Mr. Brown speak, I knew he was a special individual with tons of knowledge – not only for prisoners, but free people as well.  He is one of those people that come along every so often that wants to make a difference for the benefit of the ‘underdogs.’ Mr. Brown would be an excellent choice for the underrated post that brings relevance to the lives of death row prisoners.  He is a genuine voice for the voiceless.”

Living on death row is a torturous journey that seems endless.  We are men pushing through life’s end game.

Jamie L. Smith said:

“You can’t begin to understand this struggle unless you’ve walked a mile in out shoes.  Mr. Brown has walked more than a mile, which makes him more than qualified for this position.  The game of chess is a challenging universal meeting of the minds.  Knowledge is always a work in progress.”

J. Dushame Murrell said:

“To be diplomatic anytime you consider the delicacies that incriminate prison, it is necessary to understand the environment before judging an institution that plays a corrective role accepted by society.  To ‘Think b4 U Move’ is a motto that empathizes and resonates with any culture or class of people.  Mr. Eugene Brown personifies a discipline we all need to experience.  It is never too late to reason.  Even the face of incarceration needs a role model.”

The temperature continues to rise, and our cups are filled with purpose.

Your Move,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2015 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Year 7: Keeping Close To the Roots

"You can't understand most of the important things from a distance. You have to get close."

Just Mercy

Hotep,

Last month, I received a scribe from my son where he genuinely inquired about the status of my case, and my necessity for reading material.  

To some, this may be nothing more than a routine gesture, but to someone whose physical presence has been eclipsed by the dark shadows of reproof, closing the gap within familial proximity quells any urge to "throw in the towel." Feel me?

On 8/17/2015, I performed a spoken word piece (Judicial Pantomime Disjoints Society From the Real) before an audience, which seated one of the top legal minds in the United States, Mr. Bryan Stevenson. 

He is the founder of the Equal Justice Initiative and he personally autographed my copy of his New York Times Bestseller, "Just Mercy," a story of justice and redemption. 

A man who has been referred to as "America's Mandela" has his eyes on my case.  I would like to think this degree of progression should pretty much cover my son's concerns. "Keeping Close" cultivates my will to prevail. So, I thank you for showering your roots with a Mann's love, my son. 

From what I have seen and read, my son is one hell of a dad. I love that about him, and I adore his beautiful offspring. My oldest grand seed, "Deuce," is already donning football pads as he embarks on his 7th year in this realm of living. 

Wow! I mean, I can look at pics of "Deuce" and live through his experience of being a Lil' Mann. Who said a man ain't suppose to cry? SMH.

This is why I fight to stay alive.  This is why my next breath is always filled with hope. This is why I can shed a tear without losing a shred of virility. My grandson, Daveante E. Mann, Jr., is the fruit from a tree that stands tall and digs deep. 

Our tree is rooted in moxy, and bears branches bold enough to exude beauty without a hint of decoration or gimmick. We are who we are, Lil Mann. 

We fight. We love. We grow. And, most importantly, we keep on keepin when the popular opinion calls for us to resign. Ya heard?  Your born day is an anniversary for you and your mother to always share, but the roots of your family tree 'keeps you close' by celebrating your mere presence above the surface.  

Deuce, you perpetuate everything good that comes with being a Mann. Happy birthday!! I love you Lil' Mann. 

Still Livin,

G-Dad

#MannLegacy

Black and White: an interview by Leroy E. Mann

All too often the brutish actions of cops in urban communities throughout the United States will influence panic when cooperation should be instinctive.  

Badges and guns have a tendency to make a community hypertensive with the single swing of a baton or the flashing blue lights of a cruiser.  We read it in black and white print every day, “armed assailant gunned down by police.” “Three suspects shot in police drug raid.” “Off duty cop shoots boyfriend of Ex.” “Decorated cop punches unarmed woman.”

Simply put, violence is an integral part of policing.  The march to Selma, Alabama (60’s); the eruption of barbarity at Kent State (70’s); the devastating MOVE bombing (80’s); and the dismantling of Rodney King’s humanity (90’s) are graphic examples of law enforcement officers standing on the strong side of excessive force.  It’s no wonder that anxiety excels at a hypertensive rate during “routine” traffic stops.

This interview takes place within the corridors of the death row housing unit, located in Raleigh, N.C.  It is the manifestation of camaraderie that is tethered to playing basketball, working out at the weight pile, and daily treks to and from the prison’s chow hall. “J-Witt,” the focus of this interview, was charged with killing a police officer at the tender age of 19.  

He has been on North Carolina’s death row since 2006.  No longer a teenager dodging the widespread gunfire of cops in hot pursuit of a murder suspect, J-Witt is now a grown man whose perspective on life goes well beyond his 29 years of earthly existence.

By sharing this platform with him, it is my hope to shed some light on a survivor’s guilt.  We cannot hear the fading voices of Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Jonathan Ferrell, and the Africas that perished in the West Philly MOVE bombing.  This is a unique circumstance where the pursued suspect lives to reveal the humanity existing on the short side of authoritarian rule.  

It is a predicament that is not as simple as good and bad; right and wrong; or even black or white.  By the conclusion of this interview, you may think differently about what society deems as a cop killer.

MannofStat: Tell me something about the person you were before you caught this charge.

J-Witt: Growing up was pretty hard at times.  I didn’t have my real father because he’s serving a life sentence for killing a cop.  The only time I saw him would be at visits.  I was introduced to the prison system through him at a very young age.

MannofStat: How about your mother?

J-Witt:  My mom was on drugs for most of my teen years, so I lived with my paternal grandparents most of the time.  There is where I learned to work hard, and I also learned discipline.  At the time, I just thought they were strict but they were trying to keep me out of trouble.

It’s hard to see that when you’re young because you want to go, go, go, all of the time.  I worked really hard cutting wood and mowing lawns with my grandpa for about 6-8 years.

MannofStat: How did you relate in school?

J-Witt:  In middle school and high school, I played football, made the honor roll most times, got perfect attendance and a few other awards.  I actually liked school and planned to go to college one day.

I tried out for my high school basketball team but didn’t make the cut.  So I signed up for AAU.  I love sports, but I also found work at SKIDs and Food Lion, in addition to helping my grandpa.  Most of my days were pretty full but I loved working and making my own money.

MannofStat: You mentioned your mom doing drugs.  Did you eventually indulge as well?

J-Witt: Drug use has been in my family for years, so I guess it was a matter of time before I got caught up.  My grandparents were strict, but I guess I had a rebellious streak.  I moved in with my maternal grandmother where there was a little more freedom to do what I wanted.  I started going to clubs every weekend.  Having fun meeting all types of women. 

Dancing and selling weed on top of smoking it, yet I still went to school, kept my job, and played football.  I was around 17 or 18 when I was reunited with my mom.  She was off the drugs and things were going good.  At 19, I get charged with killing a cop.

MannofStat: Please speak freely about the man you’ve become since that time.

J-Witt: For one, I’ve become more perceptive.  I missed a lot of things while free because I was too carefree.  I should’ve listened more and talked less.  Instead of ignoring good advice, I should’ve just followed it.  In here, you have to stay on your toes because guys are trying to run game all the time.  I’ve learned to see through most facades, plus I have a few close friends that school me; best believe I’ve listened this time.

I’ve also become hardened around the edges.  I still love my family, who is still here for me, and my friends.  Although a lot of people have abandoned me over the years, I can understand people have lives to live and society moves on.  It still hurts when people leave you.  It does something to you.

MannofStat: How would you explain this ‘something?’

J-Witt: When someone tells you, “I’ll be by your side forever.” Then they just stop writing or visiting.  It’s like being in love and having you heart broken; it hurts! (A brief pause as he adjust his glasses and gathers himself).

I’ve developed a thick skin because I don’t like getting hurt.  When my maternal grandma passed, I tried not to let it hurt me, but I just couldn’t help that one.  Not being able to be there for her in her time of need hurt me the most.  I feel like I failed her because she was always there for me growing up.  As a competitor I try to learn from every loss, but I don’t like the feeling of losing my grandma. 

I couldn’t see how to learn from her death at all.  Eventually, her passing has helped me to see things clearer, which I guess is learning in a way.  I now know that life can be short, and loss hurts as much as love, until something comes along and shocks you- so to speak – you won’t feel it.  The passing of a loved one will make you feel it.

MannofStat: How does a teenager handle being sentenced to die?

J-Witt: I got locked up at 19, and got the death sentence at 20.  When they jury said, “Death,” my heart dropped.  It’s like I was looking into the barrel of that cop’s gun again. After things settled down I started trying to live my life.  I loved going to school and playing sports.  I still do those things today.  

Every class brought to death row has nothing but upside.  The chess league has helped me with planning every day movements of my life.  I’ve read plenty of books, and I’ve also learned how to point, draw, and write poetry.

I don’t want to fall behind in today’s world, so I try to learn about things and events that have happened since I’ve become incarcerated. I make it a point to learn and be more perceptive. I actually have the time to focus on more things, and I choose to be smarter about the life I have in front of me.  

I’ve found a way to live with the hand I was dealt.  I’m not a quitter in anything I do, so until the day I die I will be the best person I know how to be, and utilize every opportunity that comes my way.

MannofStat: Preach, Brotha! (hands clap)

J-Witt: That’s what’s up, right there.

MannofStat: Okay, think back.  What was your first lesson about dealing with cops?

J-Witt: My first lesson would’ve been when I went to see my dad in prison.  I used to see how that correctional officers would treat different inmates, whether it be good or bad.  Some of the c.o.’s appeared to be good people just trying to do their job and get a paycheck.  Others didn’t seem so nice.  

My dad would talk to me about the way they treated him or helped him out.  He also told me about the street cops and how he didn’t want me getting in any trouble, and go through a similar circumstance as his.

MannofStat: Didn’t your maternal grandmother have a connection to the police?

J-Witt:  Yeah, my grandma was a 911 operator.  She knew a lot of cops, firefighters and other government officials.  They would come by and speak with my grandparents just to check up on them.

MannofStat: So, you didn’t grow up with a “Fuck the Police” mentality.

J-Witt: Ain’t no way.  I’ve helped my grandpa cut down trees in one cop’s yard, and I’ve mowed the lawn of another. When my grandpa hired a sheriff’s deputy to fix the roof on our house, I assisted him and learned how to put shingles on a roof.  

You see, I’ve had good experiences with most cops, it’s just when you’re on the bad side of the law things change. You find those gung-ho cops that’s been in the military and don’t take no shit.  They don’t want to hear you out because to them, you’re already guilty.

It’s just like dealing with a racist.  We know how those situations turned out, throughout history.  You don’t see many white people getting gunned down in the street. There’s very little balance in this world due to prejudice.  Young black men are dying in these streets by the hand of the people who are suppose to keep that balance (cops). They’re doing a poor job and it’s really sad.

MannofStat: Michael Brown and Eric Garner…can you see yourself in their situations?

J-Witt: It seems like cops killing young black men is deemed as justifiable homicide no matter what the circumstances may be.  I’ve been in a situation like Michael Brown where I’ve had my hands up and looking into that barrel of a cop’s gun.  

Thankfully I didn’t get shot, but I was scared to death.  So I know how he must’ve felt, and I never want to feel like that again.  My life flashed before my eyes.  I was paralyzed with fear, and that may be the only reason I’m alive today.

MannofStat: What would you say to a youngsta on the brink of having an altercation with a cop?

J-Witt: Don’t panic (shakes his head) Real talk.  When you’re scared it’s easy to go into fight or flight mode, and that’s hard to control.  Just try to remain calm.  Those gung-ho cops are waiting for that twitch, to give them a reason to apply force, or even worse, shoot you. Don’t resist. Listen to what they say and follow it to the letter.  

People still get beat up or shot by cops after following instructions, but I’d prefer for the youngstas to follow, not to make the same mistake I did.  Know that what you did was right.

NP NP NP NP

J-Witt’s truth is a heartfelt reality check to anyone feeling the pressure of a racial injustice.  More importantly, his plight as a youngsta is tragic in the eyes of any race, creed or economic status.  A contrite heart speaks a universal language.

What makes this interview so unique?  One thing America doesn’t need is another sob story of the black youth facing a stacked deck.  Right?  That is why you’re not hearing that story.  It’s like I said at the beginning of this interview, J-Witt’s predicament is not as simple as black and white, but then again, maybe it is.  

This has been the story of a misunderstood white kid now serving a death sentence due to the panic instigated by the actions of an overzealous police officer.

I’ll bet that sob story sounds more like a fine tuned orchestra right now. Doesn’t it?  Hold ya head, J-Witt.  Your struggle will always bear fire as long as my pen holds ink. Ya heard?

Much love,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2015 by Leroy Elwood Mann

New Life Brings Significance to Older Ones

This entry was scheduled to post the week of July 19th.  We apologize for the delays in our schedule, but we expect postings to return to normal going forward.  We will be posting two blog entries a week until the schedule is back on track. Thank you for your patience.

Editor

Hotep,

For weeks I’ve been wrestling with the most suitable way to say Happy Birthday to my now, 3-year-old granddaughter, Daleah.  Better known to me as ‘Tear.’ Logical thinking might suggest, ‘she’s only 3. How hard could it be to tell a 3 year old child, Happy Birthday?’

Maybe that brand of thinking would hold some weight if the youngest Mann in my tribe did not have such a deeply rooted connection to everything I take pride in being.  Her tiny heart does so much more than control the pulse rate rhythmically flowing throughout her precious little frame.  My life means so much more with you in it, Baby Girl.

By the time you read this, you should be well aware of my lifelong fascination with nature and the way it continues to thrive within a penitentiary setting.  I couldn’t help but to think of you as I watch three goslings stumble around the rec yard where your G-Dad works out.  The goslings know no fear.  They are very energetic and if you stare at them for too long, you become selfish - wishing they could just remain as babies forever.

When I look at your pics, I see the liveliness that dwells within a great beginning.  You have the gene of an evergreen soul, Baby Girl; long life is in your future.  At 3, you are something I have never seen, myself in the face of a beautiful little girl. For this reason, I wish you could stay as you are.

Maybe I’ve already missed your delightful response to encountering geese for the very first time.  As I view their activity on the rec yard, I envision a G-Dad and his ‘Tear’ walking in the park and feeding the geese and goslings popcorn kernels.  I can feel you squeeze my hand as you hold out the other with a popcorn kernel resting in the center of your tiny palm.

Your eyes clench as you feel the slightest pinch of nature feeding from the beautiful life that you possess.  With a kiss on the cheek and the hug of a lifetime, I welcome you into the life you’ve replenished.  Thank you, Daleah.

Happy Birthday, Lil’ Mama!!

Loving You,

G-Dad

Copyright © 2015 by Leroy Elwood Mann