by Walter Lomax
(In 2006, Walter Lomax was freed from prison, after spending almost forty years there for a murder he didn't commit. In the year since, he had kept a journal — mainly, he told me, so that he could see how he spent his time, and make sure he wasn't wasting any of it. On the one year anniversary of his coming back into the world, I asked him if he wouldn't share his first entry with us, and jot down a few feelings on looking back at the year's worth of journal entries…Editor)
To be quite honest, Tod, I am not ready to revisit this right now. I wanted to take some time to relish the moment. I will, however, do the best I can.
December 13th 2006. I knew before I went to court that day that I would be coming home. The lawyer had called the week before informing me that the state would not contest my release, and that the Judge had agreed to the terms. As I sat in the court room listening to the proceedings, I kept thinking that almost forty years of my life had been taken from me. Just as I sat in a court room when my freedom was taken over 39 years ago, I now sat before people who I did not know, or had recently met, and it was being decided again. Only this time I knew what was happening, this time I was not functionally illiterate, now I could read and write. After having taught myself how to do both, I was now prepared. I had studied my case, had even prepared the original petition before the court. Years ago I developed the motto, 'Never give in, never give up', so I was ready. I knew that we were adequately prepared. Plus I had been told that the judge was going to award me a new trial if all else failed. I was ready for that, too. I only accepted the deal because my family had been through many years of disappointments, and I did not want to put them through more years of litigation. Plus the state knew that I wanted my freedom and used appealing the case as leverage. When the judge finally concluded her judgment, the court room erupted with excitement. When we left the court room reporters were trying to get an interview, but it was not to be. Family members took control and would not allow anyone close. There were sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, children, grandchildren, great grand children were there, and a host of friends. We left the court to go to one of my sisters home (Carolyn, who had been one of my strongest supporters over the years), traffic was held up to allow all the cars out, it was a caravan of cars escorting me home. I was emotionally prepared for that moment, I did not feel any sense of excitement, I was neither angry nor bitter, just content in knowing that it had finally happened. My family would no longer have to cry at nights after leaving a visit, or break down following a phone call because I was still incarcerated. The ones who knew that I was innocent had suffered over the years, being powerless to do anything. It was over, and I was numb, feeling like 'Ice Burg Slim' on the inside, but the consummate host, smiling for the cameras. Yes, the reporters did eventually get their interviews
My sister Carolyn had prepared a meal for a king. It was everything I had told her that I liked: mostly seafood for me, but soul food ruled the day. My family is from the south, and cooking skills have been passed down generation to generation. It was, if I may wax poetic, a succulent delight. I did not get to rest, and only then for a few hours, until after 4:00 A.M. One of my nephews summed up the evening: "Today was a good day." It was wonderful.
This year, 2007, I must admit that I approached the 13th with a little apprehension. I had been too calm, too cool, too collected for the first year, and was now wondering if what folks had been saying, that the realization of having my freedom could come all at once, would come on that day. The week before, I had met with the lawyers who represented me at trial, and some folks from the court, to talk about my progress. Following the meeting, one of the lawyers commented that they were all impressed at how well I have adjusted. One of the court officials wanted to know how I was going to spend my anniversary, the day of the 13th, and I told her that two of my nephews were graduating from prison programs on that day, and I had been invited to attend. She commented, "What an unselfish thing to do." I did not think of that way at all, I thought of it as making an investment in their future. I could, however, see how she would feel that way. Most folk I know would maybe have planned some type of celebration.
I got up early that morning, which is my norm, and checked my day's agenda. Other than attending my nephews graduation, nothing else was scheduled. I was to stop by Mike A's house on my way just to check in to see how he was doing. He had been sick, and I hadn't been by lately to check on him. On the ride in I was listening to a station called 'Smooth Jazz' on 104.3 FM, and Queen Latifa's new remix, "You're the Poetry Man" was playing. I thought about the Judge who had released me: she called me first the prison poet, and now just the poet. I haven't written any poetry in years, but I thought about the words to the song, "You make everything all right," and wondered if that were so. They couldn't have picked a worse day to have the graduation, it was pouring down raining, and cold. I was to meet one of my nephew's mother, one of my sisters-in-law, and a family friend at the center. I got in town early, so I stopped off to pick up the morning paper, and a cup of coffee. While sitting in the van reading the paper, ocassionally sipping some coffee, I thought of how my life was a year ago. I've been told by some observers, that I've accomplished in this year things that most folk have not done in their lifetime. In retrospect, some have been significant. In January, I received the Dr. Martin Luther King's "Drum Majors" award from the NAACP. In July, I registered to vote. On September I cast my first vote ever in the primaries. And in November, I voted in the general elections. Along the way, I campaigned for the Mayor and President of the City Council, who both won. I know that for some, that may seem normal, but for someone who's been incarcerated almost 40 years, and who was innocent too, they were big milestones. I am leaving out the community activist involvement, which has been a wonderful experience. My attending my nephews' graduation on the day of my first year of freedom was just so appropriate. I met Pat, one of my sisters-in-law, on one of the side streets and we drove down to the center together. She was excited to be going, her son was finally turning his life around, and she hopes that I can be an influence once he is released.
It felt weird going back into prison, only this time as an invited guest and welcomed. The correctional officers and staff thanked us for attending. One of the staff pulled me aside to say that she was particullarly happy to see men attending, because most of the young men needed positive role models. Often times at these prison graduations it is only mothers, wives, girl friends, or other females. I had an opportunity to speak, and was invited back to speak at other graduations.
I spent the rest of the day playing pinochle with one of my brother-in-laws. A few folk called, Jim McCloskey called to make sure that I was okay. He knows from experience how this day can affect people. I assured him that, as one of my nephews had said on the day of my release, "Today is a good day." There were a few other calls, too, but to me, other than attending my nephews' graduation, it was nothing special. And of course, Tod e-mailed me wishing me well. As I began this new year, which officially began for me on Dec. 13th, I am going to live my life, just as I've always done, "Never giving in, and never giving up." I sometimes reflect on the past, I live in the present, but am also cognizant that there is a future. One can not live up to others' expectation of them, nor should they ask others to live up to their expectations. We have all been created as unique humans beings, and as we live out our destiny we should learn to enjoy each and every experience.