Tookie Williams: LIFe in prison
Life in Prison By Kelly Milner Halls
Special to The Denver Post
https://extras.denverpost.com/books/book410.htm
LIFE IN PRISON
By Stanley "Tookie'' Williams
Morrow Junior Books, $15
Oct. 18 - For 17 of his 43 years, Crips co-founder Stanley Williams has called northern California's San Quentin State Prison home. As an inmate on death row (convicted of killing four people in two robberies), he has had nothing but time on his hands. It has been, he says, a slow, remorseful walk toward execution.
After years of somber contemplation (including 6 1/2 years in solitary confinement), Williams has set out to reverse the rising tide of his bloody legacy.
"I want to tell kids not to join gangs,'' he says from his 9-foot-by-4-foot cell. "You won't find what you're looking for. All you will find is trouble, pain and sadness.'' Both his message and his sorrow are expressed powerfully in "Life in Prison,'' a gripping new chapter book for young readers, ages 9 to 12.
"Stanley greatly regrets the violent history of the Crips,'' says co-author Barbara Cottman Becnel, "particularly how so many young black men have hurt each other - and he wants to do what he can to stop it.''
Becnel first met Williams in 1993 while researching a book on the evolution of gang warfare. "I was told he hated journalists and that he probably wouldn't talk to me,'' said the California-based author, "but that I should try. So I wrote to him. We exchanged a lot of letters before we actually met.''
Once trust had been established, Becnel went to San Quentin to size up her infamous correspondent. "But he wasn't what I thought he would be,'' she said. "I thought he'd be someone that knew and used street jargon. I didn't expect him to be so learned, so well-read. This was a very smart guy. I knew I'd met a leader.''
By her second interview, Becnel discovered Williams' seemingly noble literary aspirations. "He started telling me that he'd changed,'' she said, "and that he wanted to get at the kids through children's books.'' Becnel says she believed, but New York wasn't buying. "When we first tried to get the books sold, agents and publishers weren't interested,'' Becnel said. "They kept coming back with offers to publish his memoirs, but not his children's books.''
According to Becnel, they wanted a "shoot-'em-up,'' which Williams wasn't prepared to deliver. "They offered significant money, but he wouldn't do it,'' she said. "He wanted to get the kids' books sold, and he was willing to wait. "I'm not that desperate,' he said. Here was a man on death row, telling me he wasn't that desperate.''
Though dozens accused Becnel of being blinded by a convict's "deathbed'' repentance, Morrow Junior Books eventually endorsed and contracted Williams' edgy book proposal. The haunting result - an 80-page, unflinching look at prison life - was released last month.
So far, sales have been brisk. Rosemary Brosnan, executive editor at Morrow Junior Books, said recently, "I'm pleased to be publishing the book and hope that it will reach many young readers.'' Brosnan and Becnel are quick to point out that all of Williams' royalties have been donated to the Institute for the Prevention of Youth Violence. His motivation, they insist, is unselfish.
"I know people like to say, "You've been duped,' '' Becnel said. "But after they meet him, they say, "You were right.' I didn't rush into putting my name on this project. I didn't do it until I felt comfortable that Stanley was sincere. But I believe him at this point. I've known the man for 5 years.''
Williams writes, "Right now, as you read this, you are probably free from incarceration. You may be unhappy at home and you may feel that you don't have a lot of choices in your life. But you still have the freedom to live a full life. As an inmate, especially a death-row inmate, my life is very limited. There are so many things that I will never be able to do, so much that I will never see. The pain of knowing this is something I have had to endure my entire prison term.
"Being burdened with homesickness while in prison is one of the worst feelings you would ever want to experience. So stay out of this place by staying out of trouble, by making better choices than I did.''
That message, said Becnel, is precisely the point.
Kelly Milner Halls is a freelance book reviewer who is a regular contributor to the Chicago Tribune, Atlanta Journal and Constitution, Teen People magazine and the Book Report on America Online.
Special to The Denver Post
https://extras.denverpost.com/books/book410.htm
LIFE IN PRISON
By Stanley "Tookie'' Williams
Morrow Junior Books, $15
Oct. 18 - For 17 of his 43 years, Crips co-founder Stanley Williams has called northern California's San Quentin State Prison home. As an inmate on death row (convicted of killing four people in two robberies), he has had nothing but time on his hands. It has been, he says, a slow, remorseful walk toward execution.
After years of somber contemplation (including 6 1/2 years in solitary confinement), Williams has set out to reverse the rising tide of his bloody legacy.
"I want to tell kids not to join gangs,'' he says from his 9-foot-by-4-foot cell. "You won't find what you're looking for. All you will find is trouble, pain and sadness.'' Both his message and his sorrow are expressed powerfully in "Life in Prison,'' a gripping new chapter book for young readers, ages 9 to 12.
"Stanley greatly regrets the violent history of the Crips,'' says co-author Barbara Cottman Becnel, "particularly how so many young black men have hurt each other - and he wants to do what he can to stop it.''
Becnel first met Williams in 1993 while researching a book on the evolution of gang warfare. "I was told he hated journalists and that he probably wouldn't talk to me,'' said the California-based author, "but that I should try. So I wrote to him. We exchanged a lot of letters before we actually met.''
Once trust had been established, Becnel went to San Quentin to size up her infamous correspondent. "But he wasn't what I thought he would be,'' she said. "I thought he'd be someone that knew and used street jargon. I didn't expect him to be so learned, so well-read. This was a very smart guy. I knew I'd met a leader.''
By her second interview, Becnel discovered Williams' seemingly noble literary aspirations. "He started telling me that he'd changed,'' she said, "and that he wanted to get at the kids through children's books.'' Becnel says she believed, but New York wasn't buying. "When we first tried to get the books sold, agents and publishers weren't interested,'' Becnel said. "They kept coming back with offers to publish his memoirs, but not his children's books.''
According to Becnel, they wanted a "shoot-'em-up,'' which Williams wasn't prepared to deliver. "They offered significant money, but he wouldn't do it,'' she said. "He wanted to get the kids' books sold, and he was willing to wait. "I'm not that desperate,' he said. Here was a man on death row, telling me he wasn't that desperate.''
Though dozens accused Becnel of being blinded by a convict's "deathbed'' repentance, Morrow Junior Books eventually endorsed and contracted Williams' edgy book proposal. The haunting result - an 80-page, unflinching look at prison life - was released last month.
So far, sales have been brisk. Rosemary Brosnan, executive editor at Morrow Junior Books, said recently, "I'm pleased to be publishing the book and hope that it will reach many young readers.'' Brosnan and Becnel are quick to point out that all of Williams' royalties have been donated to the Institute for the Prevention of Youth Violence. His motivation, they insist, is unselfish.
"I know people like to say, "You've been duped,' '' Becnel said. "But after they meet him, they say, "You were right.' I didn't rush into putting my name on this project. I didn't do it until I felt comfortable that Stanley was sincere. But I believe him at this point. I've known the man for 5 years.''
Williams writes, "Right now, as you read this, you are probably free from incarceration. You may be unhappy at home and you may feel that you don't have a lot of choices in your life. But you still have the freedom to live a full life. As an inmate, especially a death-row inmate, my life is very limited. There are so many things that I will never be able to do, so much that I will never see. The pain of knowing this is something I have had to endure my entire prison term.
"Being burdened with homesickness while in prison is one of the worst feelings you would ever want to experience. So stay out of this place by staying out of trouble, by making better choices than I did.''
That message, said Becnel, is precisely the point.
Kelly Milner Halls is a freelance book reviewer who is a regular contributor to the Chicago Tribune, Atlanta Journal and Constitution, Teen People magazine and the Book Report on America Online.
