When 63-year-old Mike Young wakes up in his B North cell, he washes up and shakes pills out of eight different medicine bottles—pills for his heart, prostate, acid reflux, and pain. Then he prays, sitting on the edge of his three-inch mattress. He can’t get on his knees anymore.
B North is a cell block in Sullivan Correctional Facility, a mellow maximum-security in the Catskill mountains. Many aging prisoners are housed here. Middle-aged guys like me are sprinkled in, too. I’m 45 with 21 years in on a 28-years-to-life sentence for selling drugs and murder. I became a journalist in prison, and today I’m a contributing editor for Esquire. I recently learned that on December 7, Albany lawmakers are holding a public hearing on two bills: The Elder Parole bill, which will make prisoners 55 and up who have been in at least 15 years eligible to see a parole board, and The Fair & Timely Parole bill, which will require parole panels to release prisoners who don’t pose a threat. By the way, I don’t personally benefit from these two bills — I’ll see my first parole board at 52 — but passing them is the right thing to do.
Opponents of these bills, understandably, are concerned that if they became law, dangerous prisoners would be released. But it’s the men I see up on the B North tier next to Mike Young who would have the best chance at getting released: in the cell to Mike’s left is Jesse Hammock, 67, who has 38 years in on 50 to life. To his right is Jose R. Ramos, 70, who has 39 years in on 50 to life. Then, there’s Alvin Mclean, 55, who has 31 years in on 33 to life, and Simon Dedaj, 59, who has 25 years in on 50 to life.
Hosting the public hearing tomorrow is New York state Senator Julia Salazar, who is 31 years old. It was a lifetime ago that the men I mention above were convicted of murder (except Mike Young: he never killed anyone). They live with what they did. They also live with high blood pressure and diabetes and bad backs and bad knees. Stents, operations, meds — these are expensive prisoners. Mike had a heart attack a few years ago. Jesse, his neighbor, had a stroke two months ago.
Recently, the old-timers warily watched the return of tough-on-crime political ads. “Hearing all this fear and anger about bail reform feels like it’s punishing us in prison even more,” Mike told me. “I have a whole different mindset today. Give me another chance. I’ll give back, I’ll never come back.”
Mike has a point. While bail reform data is still being collected with regard to year-over-year percentages of people released by a judge who reoffend between court dates, studies do show that older adults are least likely to commit new crimes.
Mike understands he was once part of the problem and not always an old man. In Harlem, they used to call him Iron Mike. His rap sheet is all robberies; he served three stints in prison before this one, all stemming from drug addiction. In 2003, he went on a crack binge and committed a string of strong-arm robberies.
After a Manhattan jury found him guilty of the robberies, Mike Young was sentenced as a violent persistent to 45 years. Now in his 19th year, he’s a leader in the Muslim community. He’s earned a bachelor’s degree. “Graduated with a 3.8 GPA,” he tells me.
“I’m in prison because I was a drug addict,” Mike muffled though a face mask with tired eyes. Masks are optional now, but he wears his because he can’t afford to get COVID again. “I don’t have any more runs in me. I’ve watched my kids grow up from prison. I’ve missed many milestones. Let me be a grandfather.”
John J. Lennon is a prison journalist and contributing editor at Esquire. He’s incarcerated at Sullivan Correctional Facility in Fallsburg.
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