I’ve thought many times about this moment. How one day I would have to get it out. Write it down. Tell this story. A story about captivity, chains, hunger, cold and neglect. The story about how I spent 6 months in Isolation simply because someone wanted it that way. How a series of back door deals and changing stories would find me relegated to simply a number. Stripped of my humanity and sense of self. How darkness had consumed every whisper of light and complete destruction seemed inevitable. I would, with every ounce of my being, get back on my feet. Get back up to face every fear the world has ever manifested. When courage was all that was left.
The Arrest
I recall it being on or around October 10, 2015 just before lunch at Grandview Medical Center in Birmingham Alabama. I was the Executive Chef of the property and we were just kicking off the meal period for the facility. We had moved to the beautiful newly finished hospital just days before and in the midst of our grand opening. I was putting out a fire so to speak and the kitchen was beginning to get a bit hectic.
Suddenly without warning the head of security asked to see me in the back. I was a bit surprised as it was right as things were getting busy for lunch, but I obliged. As I walked through the door to his office two uniformed Jefferson county sheriff’s stood inside. I was asked my name and social security number and then asked to put my hands behind my back. My pockets were emptied and I was escorted through the back of the hospital and out the loading dock. I was placed into the back of an SUV patrol vehicle.
We headed up through Birmingham. Completely blind sided and in shock, I couldn’t even muster the words to ask what was happening. I was simply told that I had a fugitive of justice warrant from another state. The judge would tell me more details at my first appearance. With not much information to go on, I was taken into the Jefferson County Jail for booking.
The jail was old and dilapidated with red quarry tiled floors and white block walls. I was stripped, searched in a dehumanizing manner, placed in a dingy old uniform and fingerprinted. I was escorted to a holding cell where I waited. Alone to my thoughts I had a stainless steel toilet and a metal raised bed with no mattress. I laid down on the hard cold bed and some part deep inside of me died.
The Wait
At some point a CO came by and offered me food but I had no appetite. I would regret later turning down the offered food, but at that moment I couldn’t escape the thoughts that spun out of control in my head. After a few hours I was taken to what would be my home for the next two weeks. On the way out of the holding area I was given a travel size soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, single blade razor, a bed roll, a “body bag” and a blanket.
I don’t remember my first cell mate very well. He only stayed for a few days and for the most part I had the cell to myself. For whatever reason Georgia had issued a warrant across state lines and Jefferson County saw fit to house me with the worst their facilities had to offer. Having no one to offer information, I sat for the first few days completely lost and petrified to the point of illness.
My first appearance.
A few days in I was taken in front of a judge and he explained my situation. I knew that a big mistake had been made, but I was helpless to do anything. As a nation we denounce monopolies, but we’ve issued them like sporting tickets. Sheriff’s offices have the monopoly on violence. My options were limited and by that I mean there were two. I could fight extradition and sit in Jefferson County for several months until it made its way through the courts or I could sign the extradition and get back to Georgia to sort things out. Confident this was a huge mistake, I signed the extradition order and was taken back to the detention block.
Every movement I made outside the cell block was in complete chained restraints. With no ability to purchase socks and without shoes the chains around my ankles would carve into the bones of my feet as I shuffled back and forth from the cell block to the courthouse. I will never forget the day of my first appearance as the officer who transported me made chomping noises as he pulled the chains from their box. He commented on how the ankle chains were particularly hungry that day and giggled at the sight of my unprotected feet. After my first appearance I was simply told that when Georgia was ready to come and get me they would and that these things could take anywhere from a few days to a month.
Life in Jefferson
Back in the cell block, as I waited for what I didn’t know at the time would be a much better situation, time seemed to grind to a halt. We were forced to come out of our cells at 6am every morning for breakfast and had to stay out until 10pm when we were shut back in for lights out. There weren’t enough places to sit and we couldn’t bring anything out of our cells so most of us sat on the concrete floor. I only left the safety of my cell door on the second floor to collect my tray at each meal period.
The jail didn’t offer much in the way of heating and air and for the most part I stayed pretty cold. The food was almost edible but not abundant and I lost a bit of weight in my time there. Every now and again a fight would break out in the common area below my cell. I mostly traded a hotdog here and there for a book to read and kept to myself. I thought I would never leave the hell of Jefferson County when finally at some time shortly after breakfast on the 27th of October they called out my name and told me to roll it up.
The Transfer
As I headed to the intake area for processing, I passed a Walton county sheriff and assumed he would be my ticket home and to unravel this mess. He was not. In what I can only guess was a gross example of mismanagement, Walton county, a county that borders the county who issued my warrant, had sent an officer to pick someone else up, but had sent a mercenary transporter to pick me up. And at that I was placed back into my dirty Chef clothes from 2 weeks ago and chained from head to toe. I was at least thankful to have socks and shoes on again and was taken to the loading area out back.
As I walked out the back to the transport, the same officer who made chomper jokes at my ankles two weeks prior, had no idea who I was. He commented on my chef coat blazoned with Executive Chef and name. What a wonderful time to be acknowledged for your accomplishment. He never stopped smiling, or giggling. Our new handlers loaded us into the back of a large white van with few windows. Inside was a massive cage with benches on both sides. The cage door was opened and I was maneuvered in and chained to the other inmates that were crammed inside.
The Van
Between the cage in the back and the front seat was a long single cage that normally would be the bench behind the driver. In it was chained a single female. There were two mercenaries operating the van and they essentially took turns sleeping and the van only stopped for food and to drop off and pick up inmates for transport. It would take me some 12 hours to make the usually reasonable 4 hour trip from Birmingham to Covington as we crisscrossed the countryside picking up and dropping off.
The highlight of the trip was dinner as by the time we left Atlanta we were down to just two in the van. The driver was nice enough to load up on extra Captain D’s. It was the first time my belly had been satiated in weeks and it was one of the best cokes I have ever had. When I finally arrived at the detention center in Newton County it was late into the evening and I was happy to be out of the cage.
Diagnostics
I was again searched, fingerprinted, stripped and given an orange jumpsuit. Patience is something you learn quickly in the judicial system as things move in this world in a manner that neither Einstein or Hawking can quantify. After a couple of hours in holding I was escorted from intake to a block for new detainees.
The gentleman I was first housed with was a regular. He had a teardrop tattoo under his eye and spoke a language I couldn’t relate with. It had semblances of English, but seemed to be a vernacularly specific dialect that I would later learn was specific only to Americans who had been extensively incarcerated. I was thankful to sleep in my intake cell while my cellmate made it a point to express to anyone who would listen who he was and what he was about.
Settling in as best as one can
I sat in the cell without the ability to receive visitors or shower for what would be days. Again, like in Jefferson County, I was relegated to the block for the hardest of criminals and it was currently full. Back at home my family was able to put money on my “books” and send me care packages which I could not receive at the moment. The acclimation block which I was currently housed in was only designed for 24 hours of holding.
As the days dragged on and we continued to be isolated it was clear that federal regulations and laws were beginning to be violated and rules began to be altered. At one point my cell door opened and my name was called, “Davis”. As I stepped out of the cell I recognized not only the voice but the face. In an incredibly strange twist of fate, the man calling my name was an old friend from college.
Finally out of the holding cell
A man that had not gone to high school in the area, he had been a fellow student of mine at the Art Institute. A college over an hour from the place I was currently being held now and a face I was incredibly happy to see. He looked at me and I looked at him and we both said the same thing to each other as I walked down the stairs to gather the care package my mother had sent me. “Green” I said, “Davis” he said and a careful understanding was transmitted. I simply said to him that I was only passing through and this was a mistake, he nodded in confirmation not wanting to either discredit or approve the worst.
The Surprise
At some point I was moved to a makeshift courthouse somewhere in the belly of Newton Counties detention center for my first appearance to actually respond to my true charges. Expecting to sift through the accusations and lies, I was confident that I would be going home to answer my charges in a more civilized manner. What would actually happen was the first realization in my life, that those we pay and elect to protect us often don’t. My bond was denied simply because it could be, and I realized that the protections I thought I was awarded under the constitution were merely a facade. I was taken back into the belly of the detention center and my concept of freedom was forever changed.
At what point did the purity of our founding forefathers ideals of justice and equality become horribly abominal into our reality of injustice and manipulation. The agrarian utopia of Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin has evolved into the corporation of justice. When did the values of Andy Griffin turn into the monopoly of violence? I type cases every day where the crimes are obstruction of an officer, what about obstruction of freedom? When did we replace reason with madness? And to be fair enough that is J.R.R. Tolkien, not me. But it is absolutely true. If I hit a fellow man it is assault, if the justice system takes everything and abuses me, it’s irrelevant.
The Devil’s in the DA’s office.
The state tolls it’s time. If you are on probation and you go “off the radar” as I so often hear in probation modifications that I prepare for the clerks offices in the Ocmulgee circuit. The state always gets it’s time. No matter what. But what happens when the state is wrong. What if a DA fought to put you in prison for the rest of your life. Because that is simply what they were asking for, and because that’s their job. So I can hold no ill will towards them. Even though they did try to send me to prison for the rest of my life. But Justice prevailed because well, because I’m white, and privileged, and I was right.
But If I had been found guilty, served my time, got on probation, and made a mistake. The state would demand what they are due. But are in debt to no one who they take everything from. Because of the Da’s office of Newton county, I not only lost the best job I ever had, but lost several after. I was found not guilty by a Jury of my peers against a life imprisonment charge. And even in my not guilty verdict, and a promise from the DA’s office it was expunged and unfindable. I’ve lost jobs because of it. Da’s offices are the devil’s work. Compassion is the path to righteousness.
My New Home
I never in my time anywhere ever caused even the slightest of problems and what resulted was a great environment. If you can be put in the greatest of scenarios while incarcerated, I found it. I stayed in the acclimation block for what seemed like a week and I was later told it was more of an observation situation. When I was finally moved to a permanent block it was as the cellmate of a good man. The late night that they finally moved me I was escorted in the cover of darkness to my permanent cell. A cell I would call home for the next 6 months. As I walked in a young glass bespeckled, African American man would reach his hand out and introduce himself as BJ. He was the houseman of the block and the main reason I didn’t hang myself.
On my way in the door BJ handed me a bible and it was the first thing that was given to me in captivity that I neither had to ask for or trade for. It was a situation that only God, the great cosmic conscience, or simply the underlying decency of mankind could have organized. I would later learn that there were many factors that went into my lucky draw. As the houseman of the block, his responsibility was to keep the block tidy and clean up after meals.
The Best Under The Circumstances.
On rare occasions he would be allowed the pleasure of watching television and expressing it’s contents to the block. National title games and Super Bowls were always a treat. Our cell door was almost always open. It gave me a unique sense to not feel locked away and unimportant. BJ was awaiting trial, the death penalty even. I spent 4 months in quiet bible studies and nightly prayers that could not last forever.
BJ had been awaiting trial for several years and during my time there things, at least for BJ, fell apart. He would confide in me nightly as he moved into the realm of trial. He was on trial for the execution style murder of his father and I can only say that it wasn’t the man I knew. I would spend my 4 months with BJ in constant reading, bible studies and an open cell.
A New Friend
We became such good friends that it was hard to comprehend that the DA was seeking the death penalty. My cellmate for over 4 months, an individual in which I had come to confide in. A man that showed me the greatest compassion that I had ever experienced. A man who handed me a bible and his hand when I needed them the most. It was a lesson I will never forget. To see a man who showed me compassion torn to shreds and an attempt on his life taken.
He was ultimately convicted of murder, though his jury chose life without parole over the death penalty. It was his stoic peace and humility that inspired me to stand firm in my convictions to prove my innocence. Even when he knew he was finished he never lost his faith. It is truly amazing how God can give us inspiration in the darkest of places.
Dealing with it all
As time drew closer it was becoming more and more clear that trial was the only option I had. The DA’s office had refused to be reasonable and the Judge denied every motion to be rational. It was clear that bullying people into submission or pushing them to the point of bankruptcy and bad plea deals was their winning strategy. The state is like a legal casino. If you can flush them out quickly you have a better chance, but if time is on the houses (states) side, you will in most cases lose, guilty or innocent. It’s not about right and wrong, it’s about wins and loses. And if you have the ability to hire Bill Belichick, you’ll probably get a trophy.
So to that end I hired Bill Belichick, and I was Tom Brady. And we went up against an epic showdown of the Dennis Davis Patriots versus the Newton County Devils. I’m pretty sure it looked more like The State of Georgia V. Dennis Davis. It was nothing that had to do with justice. It was, this is my job. But to me, this was my life. Peddlers of time. That’s what DA’s are in America. For every victimless crime you convict as a DA, you will be punished in the depths of existence. How can we claim to be the most free, most just, most capable and amazing Republic based on true liberty and freedom, yet our most punishable crimes have no victims?
Jesus, Buddha, Confuscius, Muhammad, would all be ashamed in this
The most punished crimes in America are without a victim and prosecuted simply on the whims of governments twisted sensibilities in right and wrong.
- Prostitution
- Assisted suicide
- Trespassing
- Recreational drug use
- Drug possession
- Gambling
- Public drunkenness
- Possession of contraband
- Public nudity
- Homelessness
I understand that their must be social order
I don’t mean to say that society should be anarchical and without order. But to imprison people for crimes against themselves, that’s not liberty. That’s tyranny. That’s the spying televisions, and big brothers ears and eyes everywhere of George Orwell’s 1984. People think that a world like that could never happen. I’m here to tell you it has already come to pass. And anyone who tries to expose the atrocities of a government founded to protect the rights and liberties of it’s people are hunted down and tried to be silenced at all cost. Think Edward Snowden, and Julian Assange. Two of the most wanted men in America, because they exposed the truth of the American lie of freedom and liberty.
It’s not about Justice.
I think they were more concerned with politics and appointments than any semblance of justice. The prosecutor who tried to fry me, ran for Judge shortly after. Not to mention the actual perpetrator of the crime was already in custody, but that person had already cut a plea deal. The plea deal was postponed until after my trial. The prosecutor knew I was innocent. But that didn’t matter. Again, it is all about wins and loses. And in America, you never drop erroneous charges. Time pressed on and the trial loomed ever closer. I would sit in the visitors booth at sometimes 3 or 4 in the morning as my attorney and I worked out our trial strategy. A good man and someone whom I admire greatly. The DA had offered me a 40/10 plea deal, meaning that I would serve ten years and be on parole for 30. Serving ever increasing sentences after the first ten if I so much as Jaywalked. If I lost at trial it would be life in prison. Looking back I don’t know that I could put myself through that much stress and survive it again.
Hindered at every pass
As the trial inched its way near, it was clear that my captors were not going to make my attempt at justice easy. I was denied razors to shave for court, offered no ability to acquire a haircut other than shaving with clippers and given no real opportunity to become fitted for clothes. My brother did his best to get suits to the jail for me to wear. You do have the constitutional right to be presentable, but even that is suspect. It wasn’t like they keep a tailor on staff to help you prepare for trial. If your bond is denied, the system will make it as hard as possible for you to look presentable. My weight had fluctuated under many conditions while incarcerated.
From losing pounds rapidly in Birmingham from mild starvation to gaining weight in Newton due to food consisting mainly of cookies and candy bars. Being locked down in my cell 22 hours a day wasn’t helping either. A few of the other men in the block had been through the system and did their best to help me cut my hair with the rusty clippers the detention center provided. I was able to buy a nair like product for my face, which was extremely uncomfortable, and through a miracle of jailhouse ingenuity I was able to at least look somewhat decent for court.
The Trial
The day of court finally came and it was time to find my courage. I can not explain how incredibly overwhelming it is to be in a courtroom where everyone, it seems, is out to get you. Jury selection took a day or two and incredibly the trial was underway almost immediately. Evidence, examinations, cross examinations. It was difficult to keep everything together in my mind. My Attorney is a magician in the courtroom. A craft he no doubt learned from his late father. The trial seemed like a blur and suddenly the last phase of the trial came. The defense called its last witness, me.
I don’t remember how I made it to the stand. My legs seemed to move on their own. I was a marionette puppeted by some master off screen. There was no moisture in my mouth and my brain seemed to be working in safe mode. It was as if I had lost all control of my thoughts and some presence was guiding my movements and responses. I only remember a few moments of my time on the stand as if it had been a dream or a movie I haven’t seen since my childhood. Suddenly I came back to awareness as I was asked to step down and I remember walking back to my seat.
Closing Arguments
My attorney and the DA gave their closing arguments and the jury was dismissed. I was escorted back to the holding area and placed in a closet sized cell with no windows. There was a camera high in the corner and I would have to wave at whoever was staring at me for a bathroom break. Twice while I stood alone in the cell the small jailer would bring me to the courtroom if the Jury had questions. He reminded me of Doc from the seven dwarfs and he was a calming presence.
The last question that was asked by the jury was simply how far do we go. After two hours of deliberating they were at a lock of 11 to 1. They could have called a hung jury but the judge ordered them to continue. I asked my attorney if it was 11 to 1 guilty or innocent. He was very honest in his response of we don’t know. I was taken back to my cell and waited further.
The time had come
I believe it to be 30 minutes later or so, I couldn’t be sure. Time was doing strange things in the situation. There was no visible clock, and no one would communicate to me, as I was isolated in a concrete closet. Doc opened my cell door and escorted me down the hall behind the courtroom. He paused at the door and looked into my eyes. I will never forget what he told me. No matter what is said, you’re going to be ok. They have reached a verdict, no matter what, you must remain calm. Can you do that for me? He asked very kindly and compassionately. I nodded yes and he opened the door to the courtroom.
I walked over to the table where my attorney waited. I stood beside him and stared straight ahead. I had come to terms with the fact that I would spend the rest of my days in the state penal system. I think it’s the only way you can face a trial like that. You have to be willing to accept it if it comes. Just before the Jury was brought in I saw the DA ‘s office high five each other and say “another win for the DA”. the dehumanization of justice became so real at that moment. This was my life. I had been stripped of my career, my family, my last dime, my home, my friends, denied the touch and presence of my children. I, In that moment as the Jury walked in, realized the insignificance of the citizenry to its state. And that courage was all I had left.
The Verdict
The funny thing about courage that the brave don’t tell you. Something you have to experience for yourself. Courage is not a conscious choice. Real courage comes to those who have no other choice. No one chooses to be courageous. Courage is a state of being, a place you’re taken to at a moment in time, and often against your will. Courage is what you become when the only other option is assured destruction and it truly is all you have left. It’s evolutionary fight or flight. That’s why S.E.A.L.S are trained so hard and diligently. It’s an override of the system. It becomes natural. You lose control of yourself in the face of true courage. And that is not a good formula on the battlefield.
One by one the jurors walked in and stood at their chairs. The DA, in an unusual request, asked the judge if they could publish the verdict to the court. The Judge obliged, as a former prosecutor he did me no favors during the trial. The DA intercepted the verdict from the Bailiff as it was on its way to the judge. The DA turned to the courtroom, the judge behind them, and looked out at everyone. As they stared at the cover page and then began to lift it to read the verdict underneath, time came to a standstill. I could see the second hand on the large clock behind the Judge click to a stop, and the page seemed to freeze in midair as it was being lifted.
The Words
In that moment I felt the enlightenment of God. It was the purest, most peaceful moment I have ever had. There was nothing left to take, nothing left to destroy. At that moment I was one with the cosmos. I was free. The most free I have ever been before, or probably ever will be. The peace and tranquility that washed over me I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to fully understand.
Almost in slow motion the words began to be spoken, “we the jury find the defendant”. The clock began to move again, suddenly the moment became heavy with time and space and words. As “Not guilty” was released from the lips of the shocked DA the reality of my life came crashing back into me like a tsunami into my soul. I wasn’t entirely sure I had heard her correctly as my attorney asked to read it for confirmation. He approved her published verdict and the jury was excused.
Victory at last
My attorney shook my hand and hugged me just before I was whisked away back to the cell. As they escorted me out the back I could hear my attorney’s protests as they were handcuffing an innocent man. In the back I was replaced in chains from head to toe. Doc, the incredibly kind soul who watched, guarded, and cared for me through my trial at the jail, had a look of helplessness and betrayal as he shackled my ankles for what would be the last time. He tried to utter an apology, but I don’t know if it was smothered by his own desperation, and realization that sometimes things are just inherently wrong. I was placed back into the patrol car and driven to the Newton County Detention center a final time.
The Delayed Departure
I was placed back into my orange jumpsuit and escorted, an innocent and supposedly free man, back to my cell. As I walked back into the block it was on lockdown as usual and I just yelled out not guilty and the block went wild. What could they do to me for inciting rowdiness? After all, they had chained an innocent man. I had sat in this block for 6 months with some of these guys and as much as you can in two hours out of your cell a day I had made friends. My cellmate that had replaced BJ was in another twist of fate an old friend. He knew he was going home in a few weeks and the cell was pretty electric. It was feeding time, as they called it, when I arrived back. A zoo for the disenfranchised and downtrodden. No inmate movement was allowed during that time.
It postponed my departure, but I didn’t mind, I was going home. I had collected quite an inventory of socks and shirts and candy and junk food as my family and friends were gracious enough to keep me stocked. It was a cleaning day and after dinner, one by one, the cells were opened to be scrubbed. In what was actually a special moment, the guards let us keep our door open as we were both going home. As the mop bucket and houseman moved through the block I was able to say goodbye to some of the guys I had gotten to know.
A last gesture
I made sure those whose feet were cold received socks and those who hadn’t had chocolate in awhile received a candy bar. Everything I possessed was given away. I handed out all of my books, I had been devouring them like candy, and said my goodbyes. It felt like a moment from a novel. Some hadn’t laughed or had hope in a very long time. In the entire time I sat in Detention Block 2, not a single person was ever found not guilty of a crime. Most plea bargained out, unable to afford a decent attorney, only able to take the state’s scraps that were thrown to them like dogs. I like to think that I gave hope and a little humanity back to some of the men in Orange in cell block D that day.
There seemed to be plenty of excuses to delay my departure, feeding time, shift change, but they never locked me back in my cell. After a shift change my name was finally called. I grabbed what few belongings I was taking with me and headed to the block entrance. It was the first time in 6 months that I left a cell block without chains on. I was taken to change into my street clothes and just like you see in the movies they went through the catalog of my possessions. One belt, one black wallet, one watch, one Chef’s coat, one pair of crocs, and on and on.
Going Home
As I was finally taken to the back entrance of the detention center the night intake officer was on the phone and not having a good time. I heard her say “I understand what you are saying” and “it’s protocol sir”. The person on the other end was not happy and I could hear them from where I stood several feet away. Surprisingly, the officer handed the phone to me and I placed it to my ear. It was my attorney. What have they been doing? Where have you been? Why are you not out? I appreciated his concern, always my advocate, and I assured him they were walking me out now.
The back entrance was opened and I stepped out into a fence lined walkway. “Proceed to the end of the walkway and the gate will be opened” I began to walk as I heard “good luck” come from behind me. As I reached the end the motor attached to the massive 8 foot chain link gate began to hum to life. The gate slowly opened to the outside world and I walked out with a bag full of at that point the only possessions I had left. I walked out to the smells and sounds of Georgia in early spring. I walked out finally a free man that cool March night.
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