James Scott
Drawing of James Scott by Anthony Ehlers.
For My Brother
By Anthony Ehlers
Student in the Northwestern Prison Education Program
James Scott’s cellie
I’d like to write about my cellie. His name was James Scott. He was a good person, he was always smiling, and always laughing…. And it was infectious. Most people when they saw him coming smiled automatically. He was 58 years old. We had been in the cell together for almost 5 years. He was my best friend. And he died on Monday 4/20/20 from COVID-19.
I hope many of you have read my paper “Slow and Inadequate” about the speed of COVID-19 here, and the response to it… or lack thereof. I was sick, very sick, and we were on lockdown. James had some health problems. A few years ago he was diagnosed with stage 4 lymphoma. He fought hard. At one point he was getting chemotherapy everyday. I helped take care of him in the cell. He fought back through sheer will and desire to live! He beat it, and had been in remission for over a year. He was also diabetic, but his doctor had recently told him he was going to take him off insulin and just put him on the pill. He also had asthma. Knowing that COVID was in prison, and I was sick, they left us in the cell together on lockdown. HE caught what I had. They should have quarantined me, took me apart from him (and everyone else) and he may not have caught it. He would be alive today had they done that. Instead they left me in the cell very sick, and he was taking care of me at one point. Then he got sick. He tried to stay in the cell with me, but his breathing got bad, and I got him medical attention. They took him out that night, March 29th… and I never got to see him again.
When they took him out, I never once thought that I wouldn’t see him again. He was such a fighter, so strong, and I knew he would never give up. There was no doubt in my mind… So when I got the news this past Monday 4-20-20 that he passed away that morning, I was devastated.
It’s been a couple of days since James died, and I find myself going back and forth between being ok for short periods of time, and crying until my eyes hurt! This place is so macho and testosterone driven that you can’t let anyone see you cry. You have to hide your pain and your hurt…. Or some people will use it against you.
Photograph of James Scott, courtesy of Anthony Ehlers.
In prison having a good cellie is a huge part of your prison bit. If you have a bad cellie or a cellie you don’t get along with, it’s miserable. If you have a cellie that’s alright, it’s endurable, but when you have a good cellie, it makes your life so much easier and better. This is a person that you wake up with every morning, the last person you talk to at night, the guy you eat with, talk to, and confide in, who helps you, and you share a bond of trying to survive this place as unscathed as you can. So you get close, you become brothers … FAMILY. So it’s not just that I lost a cellie, I lost my best friend in this place, my support system, my Brother! I lost my family.
He and I were a big odd couple to be best friends. Guys used to make fun of us. We didn’t care. I’m sure it was kind of weird, he was a short, bald, dark skinned black guy, and I am tall, and very white. But, we were inseparable. He was calm to my hyped up, he was friendly and talkative to my introverted ass. We balanced each other's lives. I took care of him when his health wasn’t good, and he helped me through some very tough times. He always had a way to make you laugh and smile.
I understand on an intellectual level that grief is mostly based in selfish emotions. I lost this. I don’t have that anymore, I miss this…. But, it doesn’t stop the emotional pain of any of it. I loved that old man…. How do you heal when a family member dies? This pain hurts so much, how can I bear this?
He was 58 years old, I called him old man a lot, mostly because it seemed like he’d been around forever. We laughed at everything…. He used to say it’s too hard to be miserable, it takes too much effort. Sometimes if I was down he would sneak up on me and hit me a couple of times in the ribs. It always made me laugh. When I look back I can see how much he took care of me in a lot of little ways as opposed to me taking care of him! This is such a lonely, lonely place… you could be surrounded by other guys, in school, in the chow hall, and still utterly alone. When you’re lucky enough to find a best friend, here or anywhere, it makes your loneliness go away, you know you don’t have to endure without being able to turn to someone else. You know what I mean?
I don’t have that person I can turn to, or talk about things with anymore, or ask for advice or lean on…. And that’s hard. It makes life here much more unendurable! I have so much pain and guilt and anger and I don’t know how to get through it.
He got COVID19 from me! A C/O (correctional officer) stood outside my bars and said “you killed your cellie huh”? I just wanted to punch him… But, I can’t help feeling guilty… it makes me ache. Did he die because of me? And anger… I have a lot of it at these people, because he didn’t need to die, if they had just done what they were supposed to do…. Maybe him and some of the other guys would be alive. And I’m angry at James too… Why did you have to leave me by myself in this place?! On a certain level, I know that’s selfish as hell, but emotions aren’t often logical or rational! Why did you have to go?
He was always there no matter what path I went down. He had such a good positive spirit, and he truly did touch a lot of people. A lot of people keep sending me kites (notes) or talking to me about him. It’s nice to know how many people he touched, and I know it's well meant, but I wish they would stop! That shit only makes me cry. I’ve cried so much, I’m tired of it… but I can’t seem to stop!
He was always smiling and cutting up, and talking shit to make you laugh. The old man always flirted with the female C/Os and med-techs…. And they would laugh. :) He touched everybody. He was something else… and I miss that. I miss him. We had so much more to talk about.
I don’t make friends easily, I generally don’t like or trust most people… So, a friendship like James and I had is really special. I don’t make friends easily, so it really hurts to lose him. I miss him so much! I’m hurting and I would give anything if it would just go away… but, I guess that’s how you know you really loved someone … when the mere lack of their presence is devastating! I feel so utterly alone right now.
He had to fight his whole life. He fought cancer, and diabetes…. And in his last days he fought for breath. Now he doesn’t have to fight anymore. Rest Brother. He’s in a much better place, he doesn’t have to struggle for breath, or worry about cancer coming back… he’s happy, he’s reunited with his wife and family… and he’s Free…. After 36 years in prison, he’s Home. Knowing this doesn’t stop the pain, or make me miss him any less…. But it does make me happy.
James Scott was my best friend, a good and kind man. His light has dimmed, but it will never go out. I love you Brother.
The Tears Stream Down
By Demetrice Crite
For his friends, Joseph “Big Spank” Wilson, James “Baldy” Scott, and “G-Jones”
These are the times that try men's Souls. Thomas Paine must have foreshadowed COVID-19 when he wrote these words. My soul aches, but I do not display it publicly. Those I mourn would want me to put on a brave face, trust me, I know.
The agonizing loss I endure stains my pillow with salty teardrops. I steal moments of privacy in the quietude of late-night, then I bawl. I’ve experienced death, sometimes it has a profound effect on me. I was unprepared for the flurry of furious blows that this pandemic, COVID-19, would bludgeon me with.
I am old enough, strong enough, and mature enough to handle and accept death and loss, but it is the memories that seem to uninterruptedly tug at my heartstrings. This is the case with the loss of three warriors that I have had the honor to call friends. James “Baldy” Scott, Joseph “Big Spank” Wilson, and Gary “G-Jones”. Their memories have impacted and affected me deeply.
When I was quarantined for the virus myself, I received the horrible news about “Big Spank.” The news hit me like a ton of bricks and made me take a pause to count my blessings. “Spank” as he was called by many, was soft-spoken, but his words were loud with guidance. I met him at a reckless moment in my life. He showed me that despite my situation, I was not the chaotic nature of my actions. He put his arm around me, walked and talked with me, and reassured me that the mountain was not mine alone to climb. The tears stream down my face, but I hear him say: “It's gonna be okay.” Through him, I met James “Baldy” Scott.
“Baldy,” now this old man was as smooth as Tennessee whiskey and his personality was as warm as a glass of Brandy, to quote Chris Stapleton. He seemed to always be unnerved by all the constant chaos around him. He was the epitome of unscathed, in my opinion. We shared a love of baseball, softball, and football. Most importantly, he had a way of calming me. I guess it was because he had traveled the road I was headed down. I received the news about his demise from his cellmate. Ironically, I had made an inquiry about his well-being hours earlier. I was devastated to hear later that day that the same man who had kicked cancer's ass had died. The tears stream down, but I can hear his voice saying, “Keep playing the hand that they dealt you, eventually it will be the best hand at the table,” an inside message we shared.
Gary “G-Jones,” I met this fogey when I arrived back at Stateville in 2017. His ability to talk smack and tell it like it is drew me to him. On a walk to the healthcare unit from the cellhouse, I learned all of the dos and don’ts and ins and outs of Stateville. This all happened in a five-minute trek. “G-Jones” was worn down and long-in-the-tooth, but he had a resilience of a prize fighter and the mouth of a young Muhammad Ali. If you listened and let him talk long enough, nothing or nobody could whip his ass. If he thought you could be the one, he’d talk enough shit to sway your thoughts on winning. He loved life, lived a life the way he wanted, and changed lives, mine included. The tears stream down, and I hear him saying, “Dry dem tears up, I’m gon be O.K.”
In a place where you can seemingly grow numb to pain life throws your way, I’ve learned to accept that some pain is for growth. Some people are placed in your life’s path at the right time. Many of them you meet halfway, but then there are some who meet you where you are. These people leave the most lasting impressions. Sadly, when they go on to sit and sup with the Creator, you realize that for that moment, they walked with you and even sometimes carried you on your journey. I do not cry for these men and mentors out of sadness or sorrow, but the tears are joyful. They are for the memories I am blessed to have, the brotherly love we shared, and the immense honor I had to call them “friend.” The tears stream down.
Author Bio
Demetrice Crite is an aspiring prison writer. Born in Kentucky, he strives to tell the story of the past, present, and future of prisons and prisoners. He also believes that his pen will one day free him.