Street Soldier From The Hood To The Good 2 1

Walter has used his platform, a local radio show, to inspire hope
in our City and to point young people in the right direction.

Michael B. Coleman, Mayor (Columbus, OH)
If the world ever needed a poster child on perseverance, youre
the man.
Jerry Revish, Anchor, WBNS/CBS 10 TV (Columbus, OH)
His message and presentation were one of the best that I have
heard in my 30 years as a principal. If you are looking for a person
to bring a strong message about choices in life and their effects,
you will not find a more motivational speaker than Walter Smith.
Seale Brand, High School Principal, Orange Grove Independent
School District (Orange Grove, TX)
These are the kind of stories that make me believe and keep my
faith strong!
Edna M. Howell, News Director, Straight Talk Live, WIZFFM (Cincinnati, OH)
The insight that you were able to give to our students about your
personal hardships and your ability to persevere and overcome
them and achieve your goals was invaluable. Every student in
America should hear your story.
Fred Yelton, Guidance Counselor, Greencastle-Antrim Middle
School (Greencastle, PA)
I could never dream of achieving the eloquence with which you
writeas well as the speeches. It goes without saying that the real
bonus was getting to meet you.
Penny Oakes, Director, Six On Your Side, WSYX/ABC TV
(Columbus, OH)
Your story is one which will stay with our students and faculty for
a very long time. I was impressed with your ability to captivate
over 800 students and faculty with a message that needs to be
heard. There are so many children out there that need to be saved
from making wrong decisions in their lives.
Francis R. Scruci, Principal, Bellevue Senior High School
(Bellevue, OH)
The assembly you presented was excellent. I had reservations
about putting anyone in front of the more than 650 9 th 12th grade
students. Yet, your message and presentation captivated our
students. The discussion about the choices you make and the
consequences that follow was a very powerful message.
Rick D. Young, Assistant Principal, Monticello High School
(Monticello, AR)
On behalf of the University of Alaska Fairbanks, this letter is
meant to express the sentiment of a broadly felt thank you for a job
well done! Not only did you inspire the campus community, but
the host community of the City of Fairbanks as well. The
overwhelming sentiment is to: Bring him back as soon as
possible!
LaJuana K. Williams, Ed D., Director, Office of Multicultural
Affairs, University of Alaska (Fairbanks, AK)
Your riveting matter of fact approach, culminated with your hope
and inspiration, motivated all of us. I watched over 500 students sit
in bleacher seats captivated by each word that came out of your
mouth for over an hour and a half.
Brenden R. Donahue, School Resource Officer/D.A.R.E.
Instructor, Shepherd Middle School (Ottawa, IL)
Walter addressed sexual purity, drug use, attitude, alcohol,

smoking, and much more. I am the Drug-Free Club sponsor and
have heard many different talks given about the dangers of illegal
substances. None had quite the impact that this message did. Smith
does not preach at the students, but speaks from experience on the
matter.
Heather Cates, Drug-Free Sponsor, Omaha School District
(Omaha, AR)
Mr. Smith easily captivated our audience by relating some of his
own life experiences and how he was able to overcome the odds of
formally being incarcerated. He emphasized the importance of
education, respect, commitment and dedication as keys to being
successful in any goal they strive for.
Vincent Tarentella, Corrections Activities Specialist, SCI
Quehanna Boot Camp (Karthaus, PA)
Your presentation at the Varner Unit was extremely effective,
motivating and meaningful. The testimony you shared was
powerful and your commitment was obvious. Im confident that
the inmates and staff who attended your presentation will be able
to draw discipline, wisdom and confidence from the evidence of
your presentation.
Rick Toney, Warden, ADC Varner Unit (Grady, AR)
It was a pleasure to have you here at our facility during Black
History Month. You are an inspiration to African American men
and women everywhere. Through all that has happened in your life
God has given you the fight of delivering the message that one can
overcome any adversity as long as we put God first.
Michael W. Berry, Superintendent, J. DeWeese Carter Youth
Facility (Chestertown, MD)
I had no doubt after leading our sales floor for the past two years
that you would be successful with motivational speaking or any
other endeavor that you may pursue.
Jeff D. Meadows, General Manager, Bob Caldwell Chrysler and
Dodge (Columbus, OH)
Motivational speaking took Walter from my employment; we
have maintained a close personal and professional relationship
since our first meeting setup by our mutual friend. I encourage you
to take the time to hear Walters story and judge Walter for
yourself.
Mark Meadows, General Manager, Crown Chrysler, Jeep Kia
(Dublin, OH)
Thank you for the opportunity to speak on WCKX Radio One
Street Soldiers Talk Radio. You captured the message of the
Franklin County Safe Surrender Program. Your show proved to be
a helpful pipeline; we had over 400 safe surrender on the first
day!
Lori M. Tyack, Clerk, Franklin County Municipal Court
(Columbus, OH)
It would be an understatement to say that your story is anything
short of remarkable. While we were thrilled with all of the
speakers that were kind enough to spend the afternoon with us,
your presentation was certainly a great way to end the day.
Christopher C. Russell, Attorney, Porter Wright Morris & Arthur
LLP (Columbus, OH)
________________
To have Walter Smith speak at your school, prison, or
event, contact 25th Dynasty Enterprise, (614) 570-1906
or streetsoldierwds@gmail.com.
DEDICATION
With all of my uncles gone and only one biological aunt still
with us, I dedicate this book to my aunt: Alvanora Smith, I love
you.
STREET SOLDIER
From the Hood to the Good
WALTER D. SMITH
Copyright 2015 by Walter D. Smith

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

without written permission from the publisher.
Request for permission to reproduce selections from this book

should be mailed to: Permissions Department, Platinum Eagle
Publications, P.O. Box 248506, Columbus, Ohio 43224
www.walterdsmith.com
Published in the United States by Platinum Eagle Publications,
Columbus, Ohio, 43224. Distributed by 25th Dynasty Enterprise.
Walter D. Smith
Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good
ISBN: 978-0-9970979-1-7
Second Trade Paperback Printing May 2016

Printed in the United States of America
Second Edition
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Cover designed by Philippe SHOCK Mathews
CONTENTS
Prologue: Hood Beginning.............................................. xi
Introduction ................................................................... xiii
Chapters
1. Wake-Up Call ...................................................... 17
2. Growing Up ......................................................... 23
3. From the Hood ..................................................... 37
4. My Grandmother ................................................. 53
5. Cocaine and Bodybuilding ................................... 61
6. Below Rock Bottom............................................. 67
7. One Last Time ..................................................... 79
8. Busted.................................................................. 87
9. Adaptation ........................................................... 95
10. Trial Time .......................................................... 103
11. DNA Evidence ................................................... 117
12. Emancipation ..................................................... 129
13. To the Good ....................................................... 135
14. Great Opportunities ............................................ 151
15. Making Things Happen ...................................... 163
16. Street Soldiers .................................................... 171
17. Strongest Man in Radio ...................................... 193
18. Pointing the Finger............................................. 205
19. Against All Odds ............................................... 209
Epilogue: Good Ending ........................................... 217
Acknowledgements ................................................. 219
Endnotes .................................................................. 225
Prologue: Hood Beginning

Had I read this book when I was 12, I would never have
smoked cigarettes or marijuana, drank liquor, or used other drugs
as a teen. I would have played by all the rules in school and been a
different kind of cool. I would have gone to college, played in the
NFL for four years, then gone back to school to study law. I would
have worked to uplift my people and others.
Surely I would have sidestepped trouble with the law. In my
first prison, it was rumored that if you walked around with a book
in your hand, staff would not mess with you. I picked up a book.
After a while, I started reading it. I began to read more. The
more I read, the more I wanted to read. More reading equipped me
with more knowledge.
My parole board date is 2084. Education saved me from a life
in prison. Now I must focus on reaching others. I must save
children from making bad choices like I did when I was a teen.
xi
xii
Introduction
The best thing that ever happened to me in life was going to the
joint, even though the rape convictions were inspired maliciously.
It was December 19, 1986, and I was only 28 years old when I was
sentenced 78 to 190 years for rapes I had not committed. The judge
said, Carry yo ass to the penitentiary, and take damn good care of
yo self. The judges intent was evil, but his advice was the best I
had ever received.
My life was a mess. I had made a lot of bad choices as a teen.
Thank God I had my mental and physical health, but the rest of my
life was in need of repair. I never knew how precious my freedom
was until it had been taken away. To regain it, I would need to
rebuild myself by improving my thinking. That was my first step to
taking damn good care of myself.
It didnt take long for me to learn the power of knowledge.
While in prison, I picked up a book and discovered that reading
was the key to improving my thinking. The time was right for me
to do what I had failed to do in school. I focused on my education,
starting with the United States Constitution. In my predicament,
knowing the law was a necessity, and history intrigued me. It felt
good to be a little smart, and I loved being able to design my own
study program. No way would I have gotten such an education on
the outside, in a college or university. The distractions would have
been too great. In the joint, I was far removed from alcohol, drugs,
partying, women, and sex. Mental focus is the greatest power in
the universe. On lockdown, I was able to focus. I zeroed in on ME
and ME alone! Lockdown gave me the time I needed to change my
way of thinking.
In order to have a strong mind, I needed a strong body. In order
to have a strong body, I needed a strong mind. The body cannot go
where the mind has not gone first. Reading and fitness fixed me.
xiii
I learned the hard way the essence of taking great care of ones
self. The better you take care of yourself, the better your self will
take care of you. Prison was all about me learning how to take
damn good care of myself.
So I read and worked out. Exercise delivers fresh oxygen to the
heart muscle, and fresh blood and oxygen fuel the brain. Reading
also exercises the brain. A strong mind and body enable new
thinking. What about? The more I read, the more I realized I knew
nothing about the past. It became important for me to search and
find the root cause of my bad choices.
My search caused me to ask new questions. Where is my place
in America? How will I make it? What do I have to look forward
to?
No one had told me about being Black in America. As a child I
never knew that the American dream would be fraught with traps,
biases, bigotry, and prejudice. I only wish someone had given me a
book like this when I was 12 years old. Street Soldiers: From the
Hood to the Good was written for pre-teens, teens, and young
adults who are confused like I was. This is your surviving-whileBlack blueprint.
History is replete with false claims of Black men raping White
women. Many Black men were lynched for such. On May 31,
1921, an entire community known as The Black Wall Street in
Tulsa, Oklahoma, was literally bombed by Whites. More than
3,000 Blacks were killed, and 600 thriving Black businesses were
lost. Why the attack? A Black man was accused of trying to rape a
White woman.
Oh, how close I came to literally being lynched in America!
This wake-up call inspired me to READ, learn, and know my
history. It worked for me, and I believe with all my heart that this
knowledge will work for you.
I wrote Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good for anyone
from eight to 80 years of age and for people of all colors. You can
xiv
be Black, White, Red, Blue, Yellow, Purple, or Green. Just read!

Theres a need for American history to be understood from the
perspective of a raw Black male.
Yes, I do have a primary target audience. This book is a must
read for ALL Black males. It is a must read for ALL Blacks in
jails, juvenile detention centers, and prisons.
Written at a sixth grade reading level, Street Soldier is a must
read for ALL middle school, high school, and college students. For
the most part, America does not teach Black history. I had to go to
prison to learn African Black history. I share some of that learning
in this, my story.
I couldnt have survived without my belief in a higher power
and without God touching me. I thank God for putting a finger on
me. Throughout Street Soldier, I refer to my strong belief. If you
are a nonbeliever, just inject whatever positive term you feel
comfortable using. This book is for you, too.
Kicking it with my Creator in prison one day I said, Dig this
here, Big Guy. If you can hook a brother up just one mo time,
please get me out of here! I promise to do whatever it is that you
want me to do.
Following several weeks of silence, my Creator finally got
back with me. He said, Why do you keep bothering me? I have
prepared you well. You are strong, intelligent, and you speak well.
You have been blessed, but you decided to make bad choices. Im
busy taking care of others less fortunate than you! Ive told you
what to do hit those streets and reach as many children as you
can and share your story.
The worlds most precious resource is our children. Lets save
them from dropping out of school, using and abusing drugs and
alcohol, having sex too soon, getting pregnant, and committing
suicide and homicide. We must save our babies. All lives do
matter. Our babies must save our nation and make America all it
can be. They hold the key. Black and White children must work
xv
together for true unity and rid this great nation of its cancerous
problem of racism.
What if I had been given a book like this when I was 12? It
would have been good for me. Here in these pages I have done my
part. I invite you to take this walk with me.
xvi
1: WAKE-UP CALL
October 17, 1989. Out of sight, out of mind (the living dead).
Here I am, confined in my 8.5 x 10-foot Lebanon Correctional
Facility cell, in Lebanon, Ohio, trying to figure out how I got here.
What happened to me? How did I get on this self-destructive path?
Who is this lost, spaced out, and confused young man? I realize I
dont know who I am. Im in need of self-awareness. Its time for
me to get to know myself. Gotta get back on my square.
What am I made of? Where did I come from? Where do I go
from here? I wonder about my personal history! I need answers.
Its time to treat the cause of my problems. How did Walter D.
Smith get here? I need to fully understand my plight and current
station in life.
P R IS O N
Because I broke the law, my freedom to roam was taken. The
right to choose was gone. What I did not know, until I got to
prison, was that in America, imprisonment is a legally binding
form of slavery. During my imprisonment, I was a slave.
Americas modern-day slave practice was approved in 1865 by
the Thirteenth Amendment. It states that the United States
Constitution abolished slavery, except as punishment for a crime
conviction. Reading that was a WOW moment for me. My eyes
and mind were fully opened.
People who break the law should be punished. When that
punishment is in the form of slavery, thats a different story! I
broke one set of laws and deserved to be punished, but I didnt
deserve to have the book thrown at me for crimes I didnt commit.
(But Im getting ahead of myself.)
Caged and confined, I allowed myself to become a slave, a part
of Americas new wave mass incarceration slave system. This was
the furthest thing from any dream of mine. This wasnt living.
Point blank: not my cup of tea.
When I was born Im sure my mother didnt say, Look at my
cute baby. I want him to grow up and go straight to prison. Hell be
strong and make such a good convict. No mother wants that for
her child.
I was a legal slave for 11 long years. Though locked up in
body, however, I was free in mind and spirit. Thats where I
existed. I refused to call that hellhole home, but I did use the time
to decide my future direction. That decision would impact the rest
of my life.
What time was it? It was time for me to know where I came
from.
F AM I LY O R IG IN
My father, Clyde Sylvester Smith, was born July 2, 1928, in
Kansas City, Missouri, where he was raised. On October 21, 1929,
Odessa Beatrice Fuller Smith, my mother, was born. Her roots
were in Gloster, Louisiana, 30 miles south of Shreveport, which is
where she was raised. Mother, who had seven brothers, was the
only daughter. Dad had six sisters and two brothers.
I never met either of my grandfathers. I knew more about my
maternal grandfather Im sure, because he and my grandmother
had been married until his death at age 57. I knew little about my
paternal grandfather, perhaps because he abandoned my
grandmother, leaving her with nine children, my father being the
oldest. I did get to know and spend quality time with both of my
grandmothers.
In the U.S. military, Dad was stationed at Fort Polk, Louisiana.
While hanging out one night, he met a beautiful young lady. Her
name was Odessa Beatrice Fuller. At the time, she was attending
Grambling State University. She completed two years of study
there.
18
Chapter 1: Wake-Up Call
Dad served eight years in the Korean War. He lost a brother,

Richard Smith, to that war. One of my mothers brothers, Norman
Ross Fuller, was also in the Korean War. My mom lost one
brother, Clinton Fuller, in World War II, 1944. Her two brothers,
Corinth and Pack Fuller, also served in World War II.
My father had only an 11th grade education. The only way you
would know it is if he told you so. Up on many things, Dad was a
smart man.
At age 23, he and my mom got married in her parents home.
Doing things the way they did then, Dad received my grandfathers
blessing.
They seemingly were in no hurry to start having babies.
Waiting four years, their first son, Gregory Sylvester Smith, was
born December 6, 1955. Two years later, I, son #2, Walter Dean
Smith, was born December 15, 1957. Carl Thomas Smith, their
third and final child, was born March 7, 1961.
Dr. Carl Thomas Moore delivered all three of us. Yes, my baby
brother was named after the doctor who brought the three of us
into this world.
The only problem I know of was that Mom wanted all girls. Oh
well. It is what it is, Mom. Three strong boys.
Blessed with the best from both parents, I got my natural
intelligence from my father and my common sense and wit from
my mother. To know ourselves, we MUST know who our parents
were and what they were made of, even in terms of physique. I got
my lean musculature from my mother. My height came from my
father. I was blessed with the best of both their genes.
F AM I LY F O UN D AT IO N
My father was a jack-of-all-trades, and he mastered them all.
Anything in need of repair, he could fix it! You name it
appliances, machines, cars, trucks, the house he fixed it. He was
also good at carpentry, plumbing, cement, and masonry work.
19
I wanted to be just like my father. I was always trying to fix

something. The difference between Dad and me was that Dad was
a jack-of-all-trades and he mastered them all. I was a jack-of-alltrades and to this day, I havent mastered any of them.
Mom took care of the home. That was the norm. Of course, she
was called a housewife back in the day. Today shed be called a
domestic engineer.
My parents were part of the great American dream. As
children, our lives were full of joy and happiness. The same glee
existed in the homes around us. We had everything we needed and
most of what we wanted. Two-parent homes were standard. It was
that kind of unity that made our communities strong.
Parenting went beyond our blood mothers and fathers. Adults
in our communities played a role in our upbringing. The uncles,
aunts, grandfathers, grandmothers, cousins, friends, and sometimes
strangers were all involved in our rearing. Today we call this The
Village. No matter where we were in our community, some adult
always had an eye on us. We knew our place and seldom violated
people, places, or things. Respect was big in our generation.
The male was the head of the household and family. Thats not
to minimize the importance of the mothers role. Mother was the
manager of the home, point blank! She administered justice and
made sure my brothers and I did all the right things.
A baby boomer, I grew up during one of the most trying times
for Blacks in American history. While in prison I wanted to learn
as much as I could, but there was little written about the era. But I
was determined. I researched and studied as if my life depended on
it, because it did! This knowledge was necessary, and the effort
was worth it. How could I know where I was going if I didnt
know where I had come from?
A smart man can play dumb, but a dumb man cannot play
smart. Knowledge is power and power is knowledge. Education is
20
Chapter 1: Wake-Up Call
the key to reading will teach you anything you want to know and
take you any place you want to go.
During those difficult years I often prayed, Lets go, Big Guy!
It is time for me to do some serious reading. Thank God!
21
2: GROWING UP
Growing up in the 1960s, I didnt see many people who looked
like me on TV, so I didnt watch much. I do, however, recall Bill
Cosby. Cosby gained fame on I Spy, a secret agent adventure
series. The first primetime series to feature a Black actor, the show
aired on Sundays and ran from 1965 to 1968.
Cosby made TV history again as the first African American
actor to star in his own show. The Bill Cosby Show aired Sunday
nights on NBC and ran for two seasons, from 1969 to 1971. My
uncle, Len Jewel, played a moving man in one of the episodes.
The few other Black men I had seen on TV, like Nat King
Cole, James Brown, Muhammad Ali, and Dr. Martin Luther King,
Jr., all inspired me. Their careers influenced me.
Diahann Carroll was the first African American woman to star
in a show. Julia, which ran for three years on NBC, 1968 to 1971,
was the first weekly series to feature a Black woman in a nonstereotypical role. (She played a nurse.) Though it was a good
show, I just couldnt get into it. I guess it was the male thing going
on for me at that age.
What did move me in a greater way was a bodybuilding
contest, the World Weightlifting Championship, I happened to
catch on ABCs Wide World of Sports. In the 1960s and 70s,
Wide World of Sports was our ESPN. In fact, ESPN evolved
from Wide World of Sports. Airing on Saturdays, the show
featured everything from basketball to pro bowling.
The World Weightlifting Championship was held at Ohio State
Universitys Fawcett Center in Columbus, Ohio, in January 1970.
The first time I saw bodybuilding on TV I said to myself, Self, lets
sit down and check this out. Jim Lorimer of Nationwide Insurance
had invited Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sergio Olivia to guest
pose. This was the first time Arnold Schwarzenegger appeared on
national television, and I was stunned. He was huge! They both
were. Never had I seen two men so big and muscular in my young
life.
I decided then and there, at age 12, to become a bodybuilder.
I was also inspired by the Russian powerhouse, Vasiliy
Ivanovich Alekseyev, who set his first world record. He was the
first man to clean and jerk 500 pounds (227 kg) in competition.
That had to be a great feeling for Alekseyev. I was so impressed,
and couldnt wait to get started. Pumped up, I was inspired to get
involved in sports.
S C H O O L D AY S
Rarely if ever did I miss school. I won the single-year perfect
attendance award twice and the two-year award once at Katherine
B. Richardson Elementary School. Recognition always inspired me
to do my best. I really enjoyed attending school.
I remember most of my teachers. My favorite was my first
grade teacher, Mrs. Johnson. Mrs. Cates taught second. Mrs.
Holmes had taught my father, and she was my third grade teacher.
I had Mrs. Thurman for homeroom in the fourth grade. We began
rotating classes at that time. In fifth grade I had Mrs. Strawn, Mr.
Hubbard in sixth.
I best remember Mr. Hubbard and Mr. Montgomery. They
were the school enforcers. Our principal was Mr. Bird. He was soft
spoken but very firm.
Whenever we cut up, he and the female teachers sent us
straight to Mr. Hubbard or Montgomery. They did not play. When
they put wood on our behinds, we remembered it for several days
afterward. Having such strong men in school at that age was
valuable to us.
One day, Kansas City Chiefs football players Ernie Ladd and
Buck Buchanan came to talk to us during assembly! At 69 and
315 pounds, Ladd was the biggest and strongest man in
professional football. Buchanan was the first Black number one
24
Chapter 2: Growing-Up
draft pick. To this day, that assembly remains etched in my mind.

They were the first professional athletes I had ever met. These
guys were huge.
Ladd and Buchanan explained the importance of education and
hard work. Anything worth having is worth working for, they said.
Clearly these giants had worked very hard. They both had finished
school and attended college. We could see that life was good for
them.
B AD C H O IC E S
All of that sounded good, but my mind was set on being cool. I
first attempted smoking cigarettes during the summer between
sixth and seventh grade. Ill never forget it.
It was a beautiful summer day. My best friend Jerome and I
scraped up some cash, went to the store around the block, and
bought a pack of regular Kools. They were filterless. Our young
teen choices were bad.
We returned to his house to do what we had seen our parents
and other adults do. We learn from watching others, especially
those closest to us, our family and friends. Yes, we wanted to be
grown. We choked, cried, and frowned, trying to learn how to
smoke. It was horrible.
So what. My mind was set on smoking and being cool.
J UN IO R H IG H S C H O O L
Leaving K.B. Richardson and going to seventh grade at Central
Junior High School was a culture shock for me, but in a good way.
Opened in 1924, Central Junior was Kansas Citys first junior high
school and the citys first million-dollar school. The building had a
unique, very beautiful design. To me, it was a thing of art. We
even had a swimming pool.
25
In a new place with new faces, the change and atmosphere

were exciting. A lot was going on. Lots of good, but whenever
something bad popped off, I had a way of finding it.
I maintained a B average and enjoyed my share of As. I really
liked school. My mother had a lot to do with that. She was big on
reading.
It didnt take long for me to pick my favorite teachers. Mr.
McCarthy was my gym teacher and the enforcer. He dressed nicely
and set a good example for us.
Glee Club was the stuff. I really did and still do enjoy singing.
Attention from the girls was an added bonus. Our music instructor,
Mrs. Turner, was great, and we had lots of love for her.
Coming into my own, I was starting to mature and learn about
myself. It was cool to be popular in school, especially with girls.
What more could a young teen ask for? I loved it! School was a
beautiful thing. I loved being there every day and going to every
class.
Learning how to two-step helped my popularity even more.
Being a good dancer drew girls to me like a magnet. What more
could a young brother ask for? I loved it! My skills on the dance
floor won me the best dancer title in the eighth grade.
I was a good student, but I would sometimes look for trouble.
One day my friends and I decided to shake things up a bit at
school. Now Central Junior was the only school in the district with
ramps. They went back and forth from the first floor to the third in
a zigzag design. It was a great hangout spot.
Early that morning we met at Herland Harringtons house, in
his backyard. I cut mostly everyones hair. We then marched to
school with bald heads and wearing khaki slacks and white tee
shirts. Bandanas hung out of our right back pockets. We posted up
on the center ramp.
The girls went crazy. Everyone was screaming and laughing at
us. Feeding off the noise, we camped out on the middle ramp,
26
sporting our bald heads and matching gear. The entire school was
disrupted. No one went to class. It was total chaos. Now that was
not cool.
Mr. Young, the principal, didnt think our prank was so cute.
Neither did our teachers. We wanted attention, but we hadnt
planned to cause such a ruckus. We were all marched off to the
principals office.
Our parents were called, and we were sent home for the day.
The wrath of our parents came down on us. Everyone caught hell,
some worse than others.
E X P E R IM E N TA L S T AG E
By the time I was 14, I had started smoking marijuana. That
and gambling came easy in the boys restrooms. I learned how to
do both there. That was where all the cool dudes hung out. Since I
wanted to be cool, too, I hung out in the restrooms every chance I
got.
I had my first drink at school. Someone was always bringing
liquor or weed to school. At parties, the punch bowls were always
spiked with vodka. Peer pressure usually won. I rarely said no.
Having the stuff at home didnt help matters. My parents kept
alcohol in our home, especially around holidays. It was plentiful.
At a very young age, I was making some seriously bad choices.
Sports were big for us. Gang activity was not! On the other
hand, maybe we were a gang. Young males surrounded by strong
men. We just didnt get too crazy. Shooting and killing each other
was not our thing. We were into hustling and being cool.
I first played organized football and basketball for the Boys
Club. Thats where I met and bonded with many of my best
friends. Michael Ford and I met in the sixth grade while at a
summer camp. We were now back together again. I also hooked up
with his three brothers, Wayne, Kenneth, and Gerald.
27
Ramsey Munn and I really hit it off. Tony Young, Kevin

Murray, Lee Baby (Warren Lang), Michael Jamison, Ricky Rat
(Ricky Smith) and Smiley (Warren Franklin), Ricky Rats cousin,
rounded out that circle. Playing football for the Boys Club brought
us together.
Outside of football my partners were Jeffery Bagsby, Daniel
Davis, Ellis Walls, and Ricky Taylor. Throughout school we were
cool. We were tight.
This was a good period in my life. Much of the good
outweighed the bad choices I sometimes made. My social skills
were developing, my grades were good, and I enjoyed some
success at sports. My best memories of playing football were in the
seventh and eighth grades. This was all good stuff. I even learned
how to swim and started formal weight training at the YMCA.
Who and what I would become in the future was taking shape
within me.
C E N TR A L S E N IO R H IG H
I would miss Central Junior, but I looked forward to moving up
in the world. I enrolled at Central Senior High and made the junior
varsity football team in ninth grade. Unfortunately I had to walk
away. Why? I had to get a job. Stuff was rough on the home front.
The Savoy Grill, the number one restaurant in KC, hired me as
a bus boy. It was cool. I really liked working there. I was proud to
work there. Not only did I make some cash to help out at home,
bussing tables helped me further hone my people skills.
My first year in high school was great. I maintained a B
average and never missed a day of school.
I did get to play basketball. Our coach was great. He was the
first and only teacher who insisted on us calling him by his first
name, which was Mike. We went four weeks without even
touching a basketball. We learned our plays and played as a team.
The key to our success was our conditioning. In order to be on the
28
basketball team, we had to be on the cross-country team. We went

ten and zero my first year on the team and won the city
championship.
My love for singing in the glee club carried over from junior
high school. My music teacher was Mr. Blount.
In my junior and senior years, I signed up for auto mechanics. I
enjoyed this class for two reasons: (1) It took up half of the day
and (2) I was always able to work on my cars. Mr. Stevenson
(Steve), our instructor, was real cool.
B AD I N F LUE N C E S
As I got older, my energy started to change. Soon my best high
school days were behind me. The bad began to outweigh the good
as I was making more and more bad choices. Rather than getting to
class on time, my priority became hanging out in the male
restrooms, especially the one in the basement. All the restrooms
were hot, but none like the one in the schools lowest level. It was
a street training camp. Many illegal activities took place there.
We smoked pot and cigarettes there. Dice games were always
being played. To stop the madness, school officials started locking
all restroom doors. Only one person at a time was allowed in, and
you had to get a key from a teacher.
I often succumbed to negative peer pressure, and the pressure
was on in many ways. For example, fashion-hip clothing was big
in school. Looking good meant you were cool. Being broke was no
great sin as long as you looked good on the outside. If you were
broke, no one had to know. It was all about the show. Looking
good was outside, being broke was inside.
As a teen I never cared about fads. Fashion yes, fads no! I did
have an eye for quality clothes and shoes. I love shoes. For me,
nice shoes made you cool.
So to keep up appearances, I had to make money. I looked
around and explored my options.
29
My cousins sold weed. Watching them rake in the dough, it

wasnt long before my creative juices started flowing in the same
direction.
I D E N TI TY C R I S I S
There were times when I tried to get back on the right track. I
really wanted to make something out of my life. However, I
always ended up right back in the streets. School was always my
first choice, of course. I even tried the church. The YMCA and
Boys Club helped keep us off the streets. Kansas City was known
for amateur boxing, and the downtown Y was the boxing hub. The
sport was big when we were growing up. Weight training was also
starting to take off at that time.
There was always a brother ready to put boxing gloves on us.
On our block, that was Frank. Hed been a boxer in his younger
days. We all looked up to him. In fact, we used boxing to resolve
disputes in the hood.
Frank thought I would be good in the ring. He took me to the
downtown Y to mix it up with the Kansas City Golden Gloves
light heavyweight champion. At the time I was age 16.
With fast hands, I held my own, but I couldnt stand being hit
in the face. Hated it. In the end I realized I just didnt have the
heart for boxing. Whenever I was done in the ring, Id go straight
to the weight room. Bodybuilding was my thing.
My first time in the weight room was not good. I could only do
three dips on the parallel bars. Other guys were pumping out 15
and more like it was nothing.
I was really disappointing on the bench press. Everyone was
warming up with 135 pounds a bar and two 45-pound plates.
They had to remove the 45s and replace them with 35s for me.
Now that was ugly, but I was determined. It didnt take long before
I got much better.
30
T E E N T H UG
Even though I hated boxing, Frank was still a great mentor.
Hanging out with him meant a lot to me. My energy, however, was
being pulled to the streets.
Weight training was cool, but selling drugs was more exciting.
Thug life was just more appealing to me. That was where I wanted
to be.
At the time my cousins father was involved in the largest
heroin bust in Kansas City history. The story was big, making the
evening World News. The bust was referred to as the Blue Castle
Conspiracy.
The story excited me. Rather than seeing the bust as a sign to
not do, I was excited to do. The risk and adventure sparked my
interest. It was then that I made the decision to start selling
marijuana.
Other family members were big in the pot business. The more I
hung out with them the more I learned. They were associated with
many hustlers. This was Street University USA.
It would have been nice if they had put a book in my hand. If
they had encouraged me to get a good education, that would have
made an impression on me. Hit those books, Walter. Study
American and Black history. You need to know about the world.
Go for it and make it happen, man!
You need to learn about Black men like Nat Turner,
Frederick Douglass, Marcus Garvey, W.E.B. Du Bois, Booker T.
Washington, Adam Clayton Powell, Garrett Morgan, Vernon
Johns, Dr. Martin Luther King, the Honorable Elijah Muhammad,
Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, Charles Hamilton Houston,
Thurgood Marshall, Paul Robeson, Jackie Robinson, and Minister
Louis Farrakhan. Model yourself after one of them. Dont get
involved with drugs.
They could have said, Go play football. Get out on that
football field. Run the football and make yourself a star. Graduate
31
from high school and get that college degree. You can make it in
the pros. You can do it! That would have been nice.
On the other hand, how could they teach me what they didnt
know? Im not blaming them. The decision to make good or bad
choices was clearly mine. I made the choice to sell pot.
Elbows and knees deep, I jumped all the way into the dopedealing game. The root of my business was school. I was the man.
I was all about getting that money.
It wasnt long before I was the main supplier of nickel ($5) and
dime ($10) bags at school. I made a lot of money selling joints for
$1.00 each. It was easy to push 10 joints of weed on any given day.
Not bad for a high school hustler in the 1970s.
It became normal for me to smoke pot first thing in the
morning on the way to school. I did so almost daily my last two
years of school. I cut classes to get high on a regular basis. Those
cool enough to hang, males and females, were always getting a
buzz before, during, and after school.
I M A M AN N O W
Cant nobody tell me nothing. Pushing pot, pockets fat, keeping
a good buzz, I was the man. I began to think and feel like a man. I
was a man, or so I thought.
On my 16th birthday, my mother came into my bedroom to
whoop me for something. I cant remember what, I just know I told
her, Today is my birthday, Mama. Im a man now. You make this
your last whooping.
Mom angrily wrapped that extension cord around her left hand
and began whooping my ass. Tossing the extension cord, she threw
two left hooks at my head. With lightning speed, I blocked the first
one. Mom, faster than me, connected on the second one.
Now actually kicking me, Sergeant Mom said, As long as yo
ass is Black, dont you EVER tell me that Im not going to whoop
you. Not done yet, straight to the phone she went. When we were
32
young, my dad had only one rule: Dont make your mama have to
call me at work.
A few minutes later Mom yelled, Telephone! On the other
end was my father. Did you tell your mama that youre a man
now?
Yes, sir, I did.
Im whooping your punk ass when I get home, son.
As a child, whenever Dad said he was going to whoop me, I
would go to bed, pull the covers over my head, and go to sleep.
Working two jobs, Dad always got home late, and either too tired
or not wanting to whoop me, he would go straight to bed. Not
tonight.
Remember, Im a man now. In bed with the covers pulled over
my head, I was dead asleep. Something hit me upside my head. I
jumped up, and I got hit again. This time I hit the floor. I realized
my father was beating me down. He had never hit me with a closed
fist. While busting me up, Dad said, You best remember, son, I
brought you in this world, and I will kill you.
For a minute while lying there on the floor I thought to myself,
I can whoop his big ass. (Dad was 64, 275 pounds.) But then I
said to myself, I better lie here and take a 10-count. The ole man
aint playing.
Enraged, Dad said, This house aint big enough for two men.
Get your ass up, get your clothes, and get the hell out of my house.
As a matter of fact, son, you aint paid for nothing in this house.
Get the hell out of my house. On the way out, dont you even
breathe. I pay for the air in this son-of-a-bitch!
With my mind clearing after those two haymakers my father
threw, I began to wonder, What in the world am I gonna do?
Where am I going? I done screwed up.
Thank God for a loving mother. Mom ran into the room and
said, He aint gotta go nowhere.
Dad said, Hes leaving here.
33
Mom said, No he aint.

So who really ran the house? Sergeant Mom!
No one needed to let me know how badly I had messed up. I
learned quickly that I had plenty of time to become a man. Most
important, I relearned the importance of respecting my parents.
Back to the drawing board. I refocused on school. Had I fully
applied myself all along, school would have been much easier. I
was determined to get my diploma. The highlight of high school
was graduation. Walking across that stage meant a lot to me. I gave
my diploma to my mother.
H IG H S C H O O L P R E G N AN C Y
Growing up in the hood was rough, and simply living to 21
was not a given. Blacks killing Blacks, brothers killing brothers
the practice was all too common. Funerals were near weekly.
Fearing death before 21, I asked Karen Sorrells to have my son.
Even though I liked girls a lot, dating and relationships were
not big on my list in high school. Still I managed to have one very
meaningful relationship with Karen. It took me many years to
realize just how special she is. If I were going to be close to
anyone, she needed to be from the hood, someone who understood
and shared similar painful experiences.
Our son was born on July 14, 1976, a month following my high
school graduation. Little Walter was my parents first grandchild.
My mother and father were thrilled.
Yes, I impregnated Karen in high school. Karen was 17 and I
was 18. As to be expected, Karens mother was not happy to learn
that I had gotten her daughter pregnant. She did not play! She did
all she could to protect her daughters from guys like me. But both
of our teen hormones were out of control. Karen gave birth to our
son during her junior year of high school.
The time came when I had to face the music. It was necessary
for me to sit down with Ms. Sorrells and accept my responsibility.
34
All I remember her saying was, When Karen woke up sick one
morning I said, WalterWalterWalter. From then on, it was
nothing but love.
The only thing Dad said was, Son, you have to get a job and
handle your responsibilities. There had never been any other talk
in our home about sex or teen pregnancy. Dad advising me to get a
job was the first and only discussion on the subject.
Both Mom and Dad loved being grandparents. Mother took
care of Walter while I worked and Karen finished school. All three
grandparents spoiled Little Walter. Dad was the guiltiest.
Through Little Walters birth, our families grew close, almost
like one big happy family. To this day, Karen and I are the best of
friends. That friendship is woven with a special kind of love!
35
3: FROM THE HOOD

Fresh out of high school with a good J-O-B and a nice ride, life
was tight and right for me. Working at Sunshine Biscuit in Fairfax,
Kansas, things were on the one. Thats where I met my best friend
and roommate, Calvin Pierce. I also met Jim Easley at Sunshine.
He was the 1975 East Coast World Arm Wrestling Champion.
Training with Jim, I was flat-out inspired to compete.
At age 19, I did my first bodybuilding competition. The contest
was at the Kansas City downtown YMCA. Man, was I happy
taking fifth place. In my next contest I took third and best abs.
Back in the day, trophies were given for best muscle groups. At
first, I didnt even know what the judges meant when they called
several of us out and said, Flex your abs. Despite not knowing
how to flex my stomach muscles, I still won best abs.
Im now off to the next contest. At least thats what I thought.
T H E H US T LE R IN M E
Though in a position to live right and do the right thing, I had
too much street in me. Seemingly a force was always pulling me
the wrong way. I just had to be a thug.
Pushing pot was my hustle. I loved it. With a foot always in the
business, my rep was solid in the streets. It was just too easy to run
from positive people.
Everyone knew me for having top-shelf stuff. Acapulco Gold
and Red Bud were the stuff back in the day. They were made from
a potent strain of cannabis from Acapulco, Mexico. Im sure some
would say Gold Bud was the best. It was definitely the most
popular. They both were good. Just a matter of taste.
Thai stick also was part of my arsenal. A Thai stick is a form of
cannabis from Thailand. It was popular during the late 1960s and
early 70s. With its premium buds of seedless marijuana, Thai was
the whip. The plant grew tightly, winding upward around the stem.
It was as pretty as it was good in quality.
Reputation solid, my clientele grew rapidly. My products were
always in high demand. Profits were fat, too. My game was tight.
J O B VS . S TR E E T S
Rather than focus on my job and move up the corporate ladder,
I anchored myself in the streets. I felt I was providing a community
service that let me make a lot of money. Yes, I had a job, but that
wasnt good enough.
It was time to get paid. Call me the paper chaser. Perfecting the
art, I was good at what I did. The bills had to be paid, and I needed
to keep my pockets fat. Still I did have morals, even as a dope
dealer. After becoming an adult, I never sold pot to minors.
Back in the day, many people liked to smoke a good joint.
Most of my customers doctors, lawyers, post office workers,
retail sales people, mechanics, and the like had good jobs. I had
the fire and police departments sewn up. Yes, cops got down, too.
Dont forget the athletes. Had them in my back pocket also,
both college and pros. They all wanted good weed and cocaine.
My job was to deliver the goods.
Oh yeah, the church. Yeah, thats right. A lot of church people
got down, too. Back in the day, I had them all sewn up. Supply and
demand, I was the man.
People with money make things happen. You go where the
bucks are. It was all about supply and demand. Money talks and
dumb stuff walks!
I earned my stripes by providing great products. Such
excellence produced great word of mouth. That made for more
business. Great business, great community service! Great service,
great profits. Got to give the people what they want (as the OJays
would say), and thats what I did, with class.
38
Chapter 3: From the Hood
S TR E E T L IF E
It was time for my ace Calvin and me to break camp. I moved
on to my next spot with Casper, my Belgian Shepherd. Mother had
raised him from a pup. For a minute, I was on top of my game.
Everything was going great. You get it while the getting is
good! But as fast as things went up, they came down even faster.
From relationships to dope deals, stuff started getting rough. Take
it or leave it, you learn to roll with the punches. It was all part of
the street game of life. This was the ugly part of the business.
I will never forget it. Early on Monday, August 19, 1979, at
1:20 am, the phone woke me up. It was my father. My oldest
brother Greg, age 23, had been stabbed to death. Dad was with
Greg at the hospital when he died. I lay there in bed clueless. I
didnt know what to think or do.
My brother had a reputation for whooping people. He died by
the life he lived. Hard!
There were two popular songs during that time that stuck with
me following my brothers death: Street Life by the Crusaders
(featuring Randy Crawford) and Deja Vu, Ive Been Here Before
by Tina Marie. Music has always had a message for me, and these
two songs were so on point and meaningful.
My mothers family from Louisiana and Ohio came to Kansas
City for Gregs funeral. They all stayed at my spot, a two-bedroom
townhouse. There were more than 30 people in my crib, including
my grandmother. Hoping for the best, I had always prepared for
the worst. I was glad I could put my family up.
God bless my grandmother for all her crazy babies. It was a sad
affair with my brothers passing, but a good time for a family
reunion to learn more about my people. Talk about a bunch of
crazy people, each one of them could have been a comedian. Up
close, live, and in living color, they were too funny!
Cousin Kat and her mother and father, Aunt Fannie and Uncle
Pack, came to Kansas City for my brothers funeral from
39
Columbus, Ohio. My uncle and grandmother covered most of

Gregs funeral costs. The disco club where he used to hang out
took up a collection. He had been known as Dancing Greg at the
club.
I got to know Kat at my brothers funeral. During this painful
period, we were able to connect. Because of Gregs death and my
hard times, Kat suggested that I relocate to Columbus. Great idea!
I jumped right on it. It was time for me to get a hat and go.
B US TE D
Nothing in my life was going right at this time. Just before my
brothers death, I had been arrested for not paying parking tickets.
After paying the fines, a detective asked me to go with him. Upon
entering a small room, he instructed me to have a seat. Man was I
nervous.
What followed completely blew my wig back. He threw a large
folder on the desk and asked me to open it. Inside were four
photos. Not just any photos, but pictures of my parents home, my
place, and two others I knew about. Sweat ran down the middle of
my back.
Do you know anything about these dope houses? asked the
detective. I was selling pot out of all four of them. Yes, I was
selling pot out of my parents home, too.
I remembered something my father always told me: Always
look another man in the eyes, and son, you dont have to lie to
anyone. Again the detective asked, Mr. Smith, do you know
anything about these four dope houses? I looked him straight in
the eyes and said, I dont know ANYTHING about dope being
sold out of any of these houses. I told him that one of the houses
was my parents and one was my apartment, but I didnt know
anything about dope being sold out of them.
40
Well, Mr. Smith, I think youre lying. I think youre the one
responsible for selling dope out of all four places. In fact, I know
you are.
Heres the deal. This is your lucky day. Im going to give you
a break. You have one of two choices. You can, one, get up and
walk out that door and deal with what we have waiting for you or
two, get the hell out of Dodge.
Busted, I got up, exited the room, and never looked back.
Moving to Columbus was looking sweeter and sweeter. Mother
had always asked me to stop selling dope. I had promised to stop if
I had ever gotten popped. I just got popped. It was time for me to
stop selling dope.
After a long heart-to-heart with my mom, I was off to
Columbus. Kicking it with my cousin made my choice that much
easier. At age 21, I loaded up my Ninety-Eight Oldsmobile and hit
the road with Casper. Six hundred sixty-eight miles east on I-70, it
was the first time I had ever traveled that far alone.
N E W L E AS E O N L I F E
The plan for a new life was in effect. The first thing on my list
was to find a good church. Next, a good job or two. I needed to get
my life back on track.
Upon my arrival, I joined a good church. At midnight,
December 31, 1979, I was baptized at Good Shepherd Baptist
Church. I brought in the 1980 New Year with a new lease on life.
The pastor of my new church was Reverend Dr. Harold E.
Pinkston, Sr.
Pastor had attended Eastern Nazarene College, Wollaston Park
(Quincy), Massachusetts. From 1950 to 1952, he and Dr. Martin
Luther King, Jr. had been part-time roommates. During that time,
they both served as associate ministers under Reverend Dr.
William Hunter Hester, Senior Pastor of Twelfth Baptist Church
41
(Boston). It was truly a blessing to have been a student under Rev.

Pinkston.
Next, I needed to get a job. It didnt take long for me to land a
couple of good jobs. The first was with the JC Penney in Fountain
Square Mall. I was hired to work in the automotive department and
started soon after the New Year. So far so good!
Everything was new: the building, shop, tools, and uniforms.
All the faces were new. It was so important for me to meet new
people. Starting a new life was a wonderful feeling. Even my
attitude was new!
After a year, I was promoted to a sales position in the same
department. It didnt take long before I became the top salesperson
on the sales floor. I was ready to move to the next level. I was on a
roll, and life was good.
During that time, I met Teddy (George Dublin, Jr.). Teddy was
like a brother to me. We hit it off from day one. We partied
together from time to time, but Teddy helped me stay grounded.
I landed a second job at Scandinavian Health Spa. The spa was
in Fountain Square, which was walking distance from my first job.
The spa was a part-time job, and best of all, it was in the field of
fitness, which I loved.
In Kansas City, I had been a personal trainer and manager of a
womens only health club, among other things. Words could not
express my excitement. I was very happy with my new lease on
life.
Putting in 72 hours per week was my norm. I was dedicated to
and enjoyed both companies. Rarely if ever did I miss a days
work. I was a man on a mission.
Both gigs were also perfect for networking, which allowed me
to further sharpen my social skills. I met many of my best friends
at those jobs.
Once I got settled with my work routine, I decided it was time
to take on bodybuilding again. I needed a new challenge. I started
42
working out and competing. I placed second in my first major

contest, the 1982 North Coast Regional in Akron, Ohio.
I trained with Dr. William (Bill) Knuckles in the basement of
his home. Doc had been a successful athlete throughout his school
years. We had met at Hsu, the most impressive health food store
chain in Central Ohio. It, too, was located in Fountain Square Mall.
I also met my dearest lifelong friend, Fran Pitts, at Hsu.
Just before leaving JC Penney, I started working as an
independent agent for Intercontinental Cash Corporation (ICC), a
receivables management firm. We helped businesses, large and
small, with the management of their accounts receivable.
Reducing losses and increasing profits were our objectives.
Cash flow is the lifeblood of any business, and our mission was to
help businesses keep more of their hard-earned cash in their bank
accounts. We did in-house and third party collections for our
clients. We also did repossessions. It didnt matter big or small,
we went after it all!
I was searching for something more challenging, and ICC was
it for me. ICC had new, fresh ideas. They were ahead of their time.
I really liked that. It was at ICC where I learned how to market
services and products. I also learned how to look like a
professional in my appearance, grooming, and attire. In order to
feel good, you have to look good. At age 23, it was all good.
As an independent agent, I worked on straight commission. We
were not paid a salary. I had to close sales in order to get paid. If
you didnt kill it, you didnt eat.
I learned the hard way that working straight commission is
rough stuff. When things are slow, you have to have money in the
bank to live on. That I did not have.
D R E AM S D E R A I LE D
Things got rough at ICC. For two years, sales had been up and
down, more down than up. Broke and busted, Casper and I were
43
down on our luck. I had no gas in the car, and we hadnt eaten in
four days. The streets started calling my name. I dusted off the old
hustle tools and decided to get back into the game.
So much for ICC. In the prime of my life, I allowed this legal
business opportunity to slip away. Rather than get tough and learn
more about the business, I found it too easy to quit.
A quitter never wins and a winner never quits. Here I go again,
losing in the real game of life. Once more, I made bad choices.
One day I got a call from a guy Ill call GE. He asked if I knew
anyone who could use a quarter pound of pot. Yes, me! Taking the
quarter pound on consignment, I flipped it and put a few bucks in
my pocket. That meant food for two. Casper and I were set.
It was on from there. I flipped the next quarter pound and went
back for a half. When that was done, I hooked up a pound.
Gradually multiplying my efforts, it was not long before I was on
my way back to Kansas City to pick up 10 pounds of top-shelf pot.
My last trip to KC was for 25 pounds.
Slinging at that level, a good dealer had to have a close-knit
team of associates. My Ace was Bubba Tee. He was the one who
really helped me get on the one when I hit Columbus. Greg J. was
my right-hand man. I could also depend on Greg to look after
Casper whenever I had to travel or something. Teddy, too, was in
the loop. We all worked well together. They always had me
covered.
Back in the streets, I hit em hard. I had to get back on top.
Every way a buck could be made, we made it. When people fell
through my crib selling hot stuff, I had to have all of it. Instead of
buying one or two items, I would work a deal to get everything. It
didnt matter. Whatever rolled through dresses, suits, TVs,
watches I would buy it and flip it. My spot became a one-stop
shop for my customers.
44
I didnt get to this point by chance. I worked hard and smart to

get there. In the game since I was 14, I had cut my teeth on the
business. I knew what to do.
U R B AN E N TR E P R E N E UR
Prior to leaving Kansas City, I had promised Mother that I
would stop selling drugs and get a good job. Making her proud of
me meant the world to me. All of that went straight out the
window. Instead of keeping a real job, I kept running back to the
streets.
Stuff had gotten too rough too much and too often. Attempting
to do right was not working for me. I was tired of being broke and
not getting ahead. A real job was too slow. I needed fast money.
My business grew. What I was doing was working. Cash rolled
in, and I made high profits. The plan was simple: always get great
product, multiply, and stay in supply. As a result, the organization
that I was copping from began showing interest in having me on
their team.
Initially I wasnt interested. In this business I didnt like
meeting new people. Besides, I was rolling, so why should I?
However, with a huge appetite to take things to the next level, the
idea started looking good.
The moneyman really wanted me on his team. He was
impressed with my hustle. He liked the fact that I was buying 10
pounds of pot a week with cash. That was clear from the
beginning. He kept after me to join up.
Before jumping all in, I had to give thought to the new business
deal. I had to consider the rules of the game. Buying five to ten
pounds of pot a week, I was in no hurry to change things. My thing
was tight. I was in no rush to meet anyone else, not even the shot
caller.
45
Eventually we met and discussed working together. His new

business plan was starting to look good. After many face-to-face
discussions, I was in. As we shook hands, I called him Captain.
From that point on, I referred to him as the Captain. He seemed
to like the new handle. Joining forces, we doubled profits for both
of us. Our partnership was on the one.
The Captain was highly impressed with my street knowledge.
He always called me a connoisseur because of my marijuana
knowledge. With his shrewdness and my hustle, we went to a
completely new level. We made a hell of a team. We were
untouchable.
The rules, for the most part, were simple. All I had to do was
dance to the music and play by the Captains one personal rule:
Dont screw me. His three Donts of business were:
1. Dont get high on your own supply.
2. Dont take product on consignment.
3. Dont cross the man above you.
The movie Scarface (1983) starring Al Pachino as Tony
Montana, gave the best example of dope-dealing rules. I watched
the movie twice, once with my woman and the other time by
myself. That, by the way, was the only time I ever went to a movie
by myself.
Alejandro Sosa, the gangster businessman who took out Tony
Montana, defined the golden rule as Dont cross me. The rule
was law, and the law was the word. That scene always stuck with
me. Scarface was the dope-dealing training video for the 80s. The
cost of cocaine had come down, which made it affordable for more
people.
We were getting paid big time.
46
M O D E R N D AY C R UC IF IX IO N
At the top of my game, it was necessary for me to camouflage
my dope business. I had to develop an activity that suggested
employment. What should I do? The theater was my answer. It was
time to hit the stage.
Jim Bellard, a church member, and I had begun developing a
good friendship. JB had been working on a play for the church. He
asked me to play the lead role. Talk about a tall order! I felt
nowhere near ready to take on such a task.
The play was called The Modern-Day Crucifixion of Jesus the
Christ. I said, Straight up, I aint playing no Jesus. Heck naw!
JB kicked my response to the curb. Hey, man. Youre the only
person for the role. Who else is going to play a buff Jesus, Walt?
How could I say no? You got it, JB. Im all the way in, I
said.
Over the 12-plus weeks of rehearsals, our friendship grew as I
took on the challenge. JB made a believer out of me. The play had
a cast of 82 children and adults, and Jesus was in 14 of the 16
scenes. In that many scenes, I had to know everyone elses lines,
too. My work was cut out for me. Taking on such a tall order
meant that I had a lot of self-fixing to do.
JB became my mentor, starting me on a much-needed path of
righteousness. I told him about my street background. No problem.
He started right then and there, fixing me.
We were scheduled to open on Good Friday, the day Jesus was
crucified by the Romans at Calvary. Christians believe He died on
a Friday and rose on Sunday, three days later. The story of Jesus
death and resurrection is told in the four gospels, the first four
books of the New Testament. We observe His crucifixion on
Easter Sunday (late March or early April).
No pressure! I was determined to represent our Lord and
Savior to the best of my ability. Jesus was the lead character in 14
out of 16 scenes. Both children and adults had roles. Not only did I
47
have to know all of my own lines and Jesus biblical quotations

perfectly, I had to know everyone elses lines as well. For the first
time in my life, I was near perfect. I never fumbled on any lines.
The play was a hit! A diverse and energetic audience gave me a
standing ovation, a first for me. The moment was exhilarating.
Following the play and during the after party, everyone was still
calling me Jesus. I must say, I kept it all in perspective. Never once
did I let the applause go to my head.
For awhile after the play, I did try my best to be a better
person. It just was not to be at that time.
C E N TE R S TAG E T H E AT R E
I played Jesus Christ two years in a row at Good Shepherd
Baptist Church, and with all that acting under my belt I felt it was
time to kick up my game. Another friend, Joyce Robinson, had
been encouraging me to look into Center Stage Theatre. The time
was right. I looked forward to the new challenge.
It was 1982, and Center Stage Theatre was putting on the play
Aint Misbehavin. Thats where I met Dea. She was the
choreographer and was good at her craft. I joined the tech crew.
Aint Misbehavin was created from a 1929 song written by
Fats Waller and Harry Brooks (music) and Andy Razaf (lyrics).
The Black musical opened at the Manhattan Theatre Clubs East
73rd Street Cabaret on February 8, 1978.
As luck would have it, I got a chance to be in the play. Both the
lead and backup singers missed a performance. Someone had to do
something.
Dea created a scene and played the original sound track. She
did a dance routine, and I joined her at the end, lifting her in the
air, spinning her around, and carrying her off the stage. Her beauty
and my muscles enhanced the scene greatly. The audience loved it.
The part was added to the play, and a star was born.
48
Soon after, Dea and I started dating. Extremely beautiful, she

was everything Id ever hoped for and more. She was right for me.
On a scale from one to 10, she was a 12. We fell in love.
Next, I auditioned for a part in the musical Amen Corner. I got
the part of a comedic bar tender. I only had one speaking scene,
and I turned it all the way out. I also got to sing in the choir, which
I loved. There was lots of singing for most of the scenes.
My last play with Center Stage Theatre was A Raisin in the
Sun. Set in 1961, the play was written by Lorraine Hansberry. The
story was about a lower class Black familys struggle to gain
middle-class acceptance. Opportunity came knocking when an
insurance policy provided them with $10,000 following the death
of Big Walter Younger, the husband and father of the family.
The mother wanted to invest in a home. Althea, the daughter,
wanted to go to college. Walter, the son, wanted to invest in a
liquor store. After going back and forth about what to do with the
money, the mother invested part of the money in a home, which
wasnt such a bad idea. The entire family the mother, Althea,
Walter, his wife and two children had been living in a cramped
apartment together.
Walter Younger, Jr. was now the man of the house, and he felt
he had the right to invest the money in a liquor store. He had big
dreams. His desire was to get a triple return on his investment. His
mother and sister were not sold on the idea at all. Following much
disagreement over the money, Walters mother finally put the rest
of the money in his hands.
Walter had been throwing around the idea of investing in a
liquor store with a couple of his friends. One of the friends was
Willie Harris, and Walter trusted him with the cash. I played the
part of Willie Harris. The mother knew nothing of Walter putting
the money in Willie Harris hands. Need I say more? Willie Harris
ran off with the money.
49
I really got into the character. One night after the play, an older
lady on a walker approached me. She was upset. She yelled and
threw punches saying, Shame on you, boy, for taking those
peoples money like that. She wasnt joking, as Richard Pryor
would say. That was the high point of my acting career.
I really enjoyed the theater experience, and I loved Center
Stage Theatre. It was so positive. However, it wasnt enough to
remove the thug in me. I still had to be in the streets.
You can take a thug out of the streets, but you cant take the
streets out of the thug. I had joined the theater looking for an
escape from the game. As much as I had grown in theater, I grew
even more in the streets.
H IG H R O LL IN G
GE remained my connection for the top-notch pot. High quality
herb was usually $1,000 and up per pound, and was well worth the
price. There was never a problem getting rid of stuff. My people
loved it.
The bad thing was that our customers were spoiled. They hated
even a small step backwards in pot quality. My people were hooked
on two-hit, top-shelf stuff.
GE and I worked well together. Our main business was
marijuana, although we flirted with cocaine from time to time. I
messed around with it a little. GE never got inferior coke. The
product was always nearly pure.
Our way of taking care of business was to have a couple of
drinks and run a few lines. Jack Daniels was GEs drink. Hennessy
was mine.
For the longest time, I only partied on coke while taking care of
business. Several of my weed customers enjoyed good coke. I began
supplying them with the product. Our stuff was the best in town.
They loved it, and I loved the business.
We had the hood sewn up. Selling top-grade pot and cocaine was
50
the crown jewel of my business. It didnt take long before I was the
man in the hood.
Slowly but surely, I found myself using more cocaine. The time
or place didnt matter. I had to run a couple of lines up my nose just
to function. I went from snorting a casual $25 worth of cocaine
weekly to snorting $500 worth a day. At this point, money was no
object.
I had all the up-to-date cocaine paraphernalia (tools). For
Christmas one year, my girlfriend got me a gold-plated cocaine
carrying case, snorting spoon, and tube. Talk about nice, the outfit
was slick.
I always had the little dark brown bottles with the black tops and
tiny spoons. I also used my long fingernails to scoop the powder and
snort. Having long nails was fashionable for that very reason. My
slick pinky ring topped off the look.
The accessories accented who you were in the game. It was cool
to pull out the flashy mirrors and other stuff for snorting cocaine.
Toys played their part. Youd pull out a fifty, roll it up, dump an 8ball on a mirror or glass tabletop, and get down. Sporting an 8-ball
was nothing.
This was our ritual, and it mellowed everyone out. The beautiful,
sexy women were a plus. They always made the set worthwhile.
Those were the days. At least thats what I thought.
D AR K D AY S
When it was time to chill, there was the get-down crowd. They
were a small group of customers I liked to party with. I had my Pabst
Blue Ribbon Beer and Jack Daniels Whiskey partners. Then there
were the Miller Lite Beer, Hennessy Cognac, and Courvoisier
Cognac partners. With a couple of top-notch joints twisted and a few
lines of coke, the party was on.
Eventually the game caught up with us. My partner GE was the
first to fall off. Couldnt keep his nose out of the stuff. He had
51
become addicted, and he knew it, so he gave me his entire stock of

cocaine. He trusted me with all of it, about five pounds.
He knew I had his back. We had honor, respect, and most of all
trust between us. Whenever he desperately wanted even the smallest
amount of cocaine, I refused to give it to him. I later found out that
he would go and purchase cocaine from someone else to feed his
habit. That of course forced me to become more firm with him.
I insisted that he check in. He refused to do so. Eventually he
got himself together. It was important that he did. There was too
much at stake. To say the least, I was happy to have contributed to
his recovery.
Other cats close to me also found themselves addicted to cocaine.
A couple of them checked into treatment centers. Young, dumb, and
egotistical, I saw their struggles as signs of weakness. Looking back,
I know now that they were doing the right thing. They were
admitting that they needed help. I was the one who continued to
make bad choices.
Today, one friend is happily married and doing well. He and his
wife actually own a couple of businesses. Hes no longer in the
game. Another landed himself in federal prison. Hes out now, and is
doing quite well.
GE got himself together. He kicked his cocaine habit. No longer
did he let the girl (cocaine) control him. That was all good. GE was
the man and anchor of our business. It was good to have him back on
top of his game.
But me, I had to be the real gangster. It was all about being hard.
Just like the men I watched growing up who would boast about
holding their liquor, I prided myself on being able to do lots of topgrade cocaine and keep it moving.
52
4: MY GRANDMOTHER
My familys tradition was to drive to Louisiana, Mothers
birthplace, every summer to visit my grandmother. Off to the
country we went. The party was on when we got there.
It was the summer of 1983, and though I had veered off course
in my personal life, I pulled it together for the road trip. Uncle
Pack had passed the practice on to me, and I couldnt let him
down. Uncle Pack and I had a special relationship. When I first
moved to Columbus he taught me to always have enough cash just
in case I had to get to where my mother or grandmother was. That
was his first lesson to me.
My cousin Bump and I went to Kansas City and picked up my
partner, Ellis Walls, and Little Walter. I would go get Little Walter
every summer. It was important for him to spend time with me. I
also wanted to make sure he stayed in touch with his grandmother
and great grandmother. My aim was to pass the tradition on to him.
We went back to Columbus and picked up Uncle Pack, his
three grandchildren, Bump, Tea, and Anthony, as well as Aunt
Fannie and Dea. We loaded up my 1975 Oldsmobile 98, and off to
Louisiana we went.
As soon as we landed in Louisiana, the party was on. Wed
made it! Grandmother loved seeing my ride come down that long
country road. One by one we filed out of the car, ready to enjoy
family and friends. Grandma greeted everyone with a hug.
Then she got to me. Those warm hugs were no more. Hands on
hips, Grandma said, I thought I told you to ride that motorcycle
down here.
I said, Grandma! Thats a 1,100-mile, 20-hour ride. Thats a
bit much on two wheels. Besides, I had to bring the rest of the
family.
In her wonderful Grandma way, she said, I didnt tell you to
bring everybody down here. I told you to ride that motorcycle.
Okay, Grandma. Ill ride it down next year. She then

comforted me with her loving, warm hug.
I had considered riding the bike down there. My workout
partner, Jerry Saunders, and I had kicked the idea around a few
times. We both had brand new 1980 fuel-injected Kawasaki
Classic 1000s. He was game. Wasnt nothing to it but to do it!
When I got back to Columbus, Id call Jerry to plan a bike ride to
Louisiana next year. No way could I say no to my grandma. I had
to get that bike to LA. It was a done deal. Wed roll up on the bikes
next year.
Bless my grandmothers heart, she didnt believe in slowing
down. She certainly didnt look her age, and thats something Im
so glad I took from her. Not only did she look great at 91, but she
got around pretty well. Shed be 92 on her next birthday,
December 15, which is also my birthday. Arent I special?
J US T C H I LL IN G
As usual, the food was good and plentiful. There was no
shortage on the laughter, liquor, and weed either. I would always
bring out the top-shelf stuff when visiting the country. Wed go
across the field to the old school or across the street to the car wash
to get down. Our family gatherings were fun and exciting because
we were all about having a good time. There were no fights, no
arguments.
It was also a good time to learn more about our kinfolks. We
did so through lots of laughter and storytelling. All the nieces and
nephews were good at imitating the uncles and Aunt Fannie. (My
mother was the only girl with seven brothers. They called her
Aunt Tee.)
F AM I LY H IS TO R Y
Ever since I could remember I was always asking my
grandmother tons of questions. This year she flipped the script. In
54
Chapter 4: My Grandmother
her unique and loving way she said, Come have a seat with me,
man. You need to know your family history.
May I get pen and paper? I asked.
NO! she said.
How about a tape recorder?
NO! In fact, her exact words were, Naw, man, you
remember this. You must know your family history, man, because
its a great one. You must teach it to your children and
grandchildren. In front of her fireplace, she began teaching me my
family history. It was a blessed moment for me. I sat there like a
sponge, graciously taking it all in.
To the west coast of Africa we went. Grandmother started with
the history of my great-great-great-grandfather. A survivor of the
trip from Africa, he had to be a strong man. His son, my greatgreat-grandfather, too, had to be strong and fearless. He freed
himself and others from slavery and searched for his son who had
been sold into slavery at the age of five.
Focused and driven, he found his son. Armed with strong faith
in God and destined for success, he became a businessman and
pastor. His mind was set on achievement.
Your grandpa was a hardworking man and so was his father.
Owning land became a top priority to your great-great-grandpa. He
passed the same practice down to his son, your great-grandfather,
Jackson Fuller.
To this day, his first church, Mt. Mariah, still stands in Gloster,
Louisiana. Men of the Fuller family have mainly pastored the
church. That in itself is greatness.
Wow, did Grandma light up when she talked about her
husband. He was the seventh of nine children eight boys and one
girl born to Harriett and Jackson Fuller. His father passed on to
him the importance of owning land. He taught him how to manage
and live off the land.
55
Grandma stressed how important it was for me to work hard.

Then Grandma sadly explained that my grandfather worked
himself to death. He was determined to leave something for not
only his children (as his father had done for him), but his
grandchildren, too. That he did.
T R UE D E VO T IO N
To this day, that was the best history lesson I ever had. My
grandmother did a great job of teaching me the history of my
family, and she did it in such a loving way. Just the two of us! She
wanted to make sure my grandfathers history lived on.
Surely it will, because I did exactly what Grandma instructed
me to do. I did not forget what she taught me! I stuck it to memory.
Not only did I learn a lot about my family history, but I also
learned something special about my grandmother. That woman
loved her man!
Grandma, tell me about your family, I said. Suddenly
shaking her head, she said her family history was not important.
Not wanting to take no for an answer, I asked again, What about
your family? I need to know the roots of your family.
Not a chance. She had no desire to talk about her past. The
only thing she said was that her people were from West Virginia.
That was it! End of discussion. She returned to explaining my
grandfathers family history and how important it was for me to
know it.
The final thing my grandmother said to me was, Always work
hard. Dont lie, cheat, steal, or gamble. Every man that has a strong
back should have a job. Dont you never be no lazy man. Always
listen. You have two ears, two eyes, two hands, and two feet. If
you use all four of them twice as much as you use your mouth,
youll be alright, son.
56
Never will I forget that special time I spent with my

grandmother. It was wonderful! She made me feel good about
myself and proud of my familys history. I will make sure it lives
on.
E AS TE R S UN D AY
Six months later, I was in Kansas City. Little Walter was in an
Easter play. It was my practice to see him twice a year, including
the summer road trip to see Grandma. He was glad to see me in the
audience, and I was glad to see him on stage. The historical play
was about the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
After the play, I got a call from my mother. My grandmother
had passed away. Ill always remember the date: April 22, 1984.
At age 91, the anchor of our family, my grandmother, moved
on to her final resting place on the same day that Jesus rose. My
grandmother died on Easter Sunday. Now she can be reunited with
her husband, I thought.
What should I do? I had driven to Kansas City to see Little
Walter in the Easter play. He had done well, and thats what I
needed to hold on to. I called Dea and broke the news to her.
Having taken the family trip twice before with me, Dea got to
know my grandmother quite well. They actually had several
conversations alone. Mom, too, thought highly of her, as did the
rest of my family. She fit right in.
Dea helped me keep it together. Together we drove to
Louisiana.
Rather than it being a sad affair, we did what we do. We
partied. It was a special time indeed. We laughed and shared
memories of my grandmother. There were some sad moments, too.
I could see the hurt in the eyes of my relatives.
Everyone dealt with her departure in his or her own way. I
certainly went through mine. Though rough, we did what Grandma
would have wanted us to do. We rejoiced.
57
S P E C IA L M E M O R Y
I have many memories of my grandmother, but the one that
comes to mind took place at her dinner table. Grandma had made
fried chicken, white navy beans, cornbread (made from scratch),
and of course, Kool-Aid. Everything was cool except for those
huge white beans. I couldnt stand those things.
I must have been seven or eight at the time. I said, Grandma, I
dont want these beans.
Thats alright, she said, and kindly removed the plate. Cool. I
jumped up from the table and hit the back door, making my way
back outside to play and enjoy the rest of my summer day.
The next morning it was time for breakfast. I loved the smell of
fresh coffee brewing and bacon cooking. Eggs, grits, homemade
biscuits, and homemade jam we always had great breakfasts. To
this day, Im a big breakfast person.
Grandma called us to eat, and man was I hungry.
Everyone gathered around the table ready to dig in. Grandma
fixed each of our plates, placing them gently before us. When she
set my plate in front of me, there were no grits, bacon, eggs, or
biscuits, and definitely no jam.
Much to my dismay, right there in front of me were the big
ugly white navy beans. Grandma saved them for me from the night
before, never saying a word. I knew the beans were my breakfast.
Everyone started laughing. I knew what time it was. I said to
myself, Self, what the heck is this? It didnt take long for me to
figure it out. This morning breakfast would be huge white navy
beans!
I cant say that I ever fell in love with navy beans. In fact, to
this day I cant stand them. But what can I say? I learned my
lesson. Never again would I complain about any meal prepared for
me. I ALWAYS eat everything on my plate, and I have passed the
same lesson down to my children. Theyre not allowed to say, I
58
dont like this or I dont like that when meals are prepared for
them.
NEVER do my children or I complain about a blessed meal
prepared for us. From that day forward, I practiced what my
grandmother taught me. Every meal is a blessing.
H O M E G O IN G
We laid my grandmother, Lizzie A. Fuller, to rest in the family
church cemetery. A place had been reserved for her right beside
my grandfather, Rochelle Fuller. Finally, after 32 years, this
beautiful couple, husband and wife, were back together again. I
was so glad to see them finally reunited.
The cemetery has a rich history. My great-great-grandfather
founded Mt. Mariah in 1860. Grandma and Grandpa were laid to
rest right next to Great-Grandpa Jackson Fuller and his wife.
Back at home, stuff was a little rough after my grandmothers
death. I just felt empty after losing her. The anchor of our family
had moved on. It was time for me to move on. I vowed to get
myself together. It was high time to walk away from the cocaine
game. I was always thinking, what would Grandma think of me?
That thought is greater since she has moved on to a place where
she can keep an eye on me.
59
5: COCAINE AND BODYBUILDING

You would think my grandmothers passing would have
stopped my slip into darkness. After all, we had shared the same
birthday. For that reason, I always considered myself her favorite.
Sadly, though, I didnt stop using. In fact, my use became
abuse. It just got worse. As my habit grew, so did my need for
more money. I still had bills and other responsibilities apart from
the drugs. It was time to grow the business.
Many of my weed customers also used cocaine. More demand
required more supply. More cocaine created more cash flow and
more problems. To manage both, I had to be stronger. The pressure
was on for me to stop using, make money, and handle my business.
Aint no stopping me now. I grew larger in the business. The dope
dealing game had me.
Still, no matter what I did, nothing seemed to work anymore.
Of course I tried to keep things right and tight, but that wasnt
happening. The darkness was getting darker.
I took a break and drove to KC with Bump to pick up Little
Walter for the summer. Ellis Walls rolled back with us to
Columbus, too. It didnt take long before he peeped that things
werent right with me. A true friend, Walls quickly realized that I
had a problem. Not only was I moving 25 pounds of weed and four
ounces of cocaine a week, I was addicted. He made me see that I
had a problem and was in way over my head. I had to get a grip.
Usually Id take my son and Ellis back to Kansas City at the
end of the summer. Not this time. Instead, I put them on a bus.
Things change.
I had been freebasing every day for about four weeks. All my
gears were going in the wrong direction. I was officially out of
control.
B O D Y B UILD IN G 1984
In an attempt to fix my messed up life, I jumped deeper into
bodybuilding. My eyes were set on the September 8, 1984, North
Coast Regional contest in Akron. The class winner would qualify
to compete in any of the three International Federation of Body
Builders (IFBB) contests. The qualification would be good for two
years.
Winning at that level had been my childhood dream. I was
determined to become a professional bodybuilder. There was
nothing to it but to do it!
Getting ready for the contest, I had to kick my hustle game up.
No problem. My cocaine man had been trying to get me to take
more of the stuff anyway. Need and greed had kicked all the way
in. I went from copping four ounces (a quarter-pound) to one
pound of cocaine. With more cocaine on hand, I could sell more
and make more money, but Id also use more.
Down to my last six weeks before the North Coast Regional, I
worked out six days a week. My workouts were right, and my diet
was tight. I felt good, and I looked good. I had been living for this
moment.
Before every workout, I snorted or freebased cocaine. Thats
right, I had to run a line or a few, or hit the pipe. The coke made
me feel like Superman.
The night before the competition I smoked cocaine. A lot of it.
I overdid it. As I was driving to Akron, a sharp pain struck me in
my lower left back. While I was driving, right arm on the armrest,
two diamond rings slipped off my fingers.
Dea convinced me to stop at a hospital emergency room. I
explained my symptoms and was weighed. I was 171 pounds. The
nurse concluded that I was dehydrated. She insisted that I drink
several cans of V8 juice. I did just that.
Five pounds under the 176 pound weight class limit, I had
nothing to lose. The V8 made me feel much better. Back on the
62
Chapter 5: Cocaine and Bodybuilding
road, we made it to our hotel. Tired and in need of sleep, I hit the
pipe for the rest of the night instead.
C O N TE S T T IM E
We arrived at the venue on time. I was surprised at the many
people in the audience I knew and who supported me. They knew
how much this meant to me. They were excited for me.
I had so lived for this moment. On the pipe all night, reality set
in. I ate my first of two meals before heading to the contest site.
Dea helped me with last minute preparations. This is it!
I met John Black, owner of Blacks Health World in Cleveland,
and he seemed to be interested in what he saw in me. Well known
throughout the weightlifting community, John was one of the
greats in strength training and power lifting. He had set many
records in the 1980s. I was honored to meet him.
No one knew anything about my cocaine addiction. My
training partner didnt even know that I was freebasing. I was good
at keeping others from knowing. The only person in that room who
knew I was on the pipe was Dea.
There were cheers from the crowd. Are you ready,
champion? I know youre strapped. Lets get a peek at you,
man. Take them clothes off!
Not only did class winners qualify for the IFBB national
shows, but the top three place winners in each weight class would
have their photos published in Flex magazine. The first edition of
Flex hit the stands in April 1983. I purchased the very first copy.
I called my father and told him that I was going to be in the
magazine. He said, Son, you can do and be anything you want to
be. You can do it! Being in Flex, to me, was equal to winning the
contest.
I pumped up and removed my clothes. Dea oiled my body. My
supporters went crazy. You the man, Walt! You got the
63
middleweight class. Youre looking really good, man. Its time

to cash in all that training and get paid, my brother.
Lots of energy was popping off in our corner. So far, so good!
Lightweights were called to weigh in. The field was tough. The
guys were ripped. Everything went smoothly.
The middleweights were called next. I had trained hard and
dieted down from 189 pounds to weigh in at the high end of the
middleweight class. On the day of the contest, I weighed exactly
175 pounds. The cutoff was 176 pounds.
So imagine how surprised I was when a coordinator said,
Youre a light heavyweight. We didnt call you. I explained that
I was a middleweight. I had just weighed myself an hour earlier
and came in at 175 pounds.
Angrily the shot caller said, Youre a light heavyweight. Get
out of the line and return to your seat.
Isnt the cut-off weight limit 176? I weigh 175 pounds, I
said.
Everyone in my camp was shocked, especially me. A few
shrugged their shoulders. None of us could figure out what was
going on.
Stunned, I stood my ground. I was adamant about my weight.
Getting on the scales again, I insisted that the coordinator take a
closer look at the reading. He refused. Again, I stressed the fact
that I made weight and the scales proved that fact. Ticked off, the
coordinator ordered me off the scale and back to my seat.
I could have gone off on him, but I thought it best to chill. It
did me no good to keep arguing with him. I needed to remain
focused.
Light heavyweights were called to weigh in. Once more, I
made my way to the scales. I now actually weighed 174 pounds.
The hostile coordinator adjusted the beam on the scale. The scale
balanced out at 174 pounds. The coordinator shoved the beam to
the right and ruled that I was a light heavyweight.
64
Chapter 5: Cocaine and Bodybuilding
Pumping up again, I was determined to do well, even as a light

heavyweight. I came to win. It was time for prejudging.
I made the top 10 for the evening show. Five of the top 10
would do individual posing routines. My routine was tight. The
audience loved it, and I was on fire. My confidence was sky high.
It was time to call out the top five places. My dream of being in
Flex magazine was only two places away.
Not so fast. Fifth place goes to number 12, Walter Smith.
Id been shafted, and everyone knew it. The crowd booed and
kept booing as the fourth, third, and second place winners were
announced (silently I agreed with the audience). The protest didnt
stop until first place was announced. (The first place winner was
not a bad call.)
In all my past contests, Id always practiced good
sportsmanship. I knew the importance of smiling even in defeat.
But at this contest, I just couldnt do it. I couldnt form my lips to
smile. Devastated, I wanted to storm off the stage as I had seen
others do when the judging was biased. I wanted to smash the
trophy, but that just wasnt me. All I could do was stand there with
my dignity, knowing I had done my best.
This was the only contest to date where I should have placed
better. Im always able to see where I should be in the lineup, and
in other contests, my placement was no mystery. One thing I did
notice was that everyone who placed over me was from the Akron
area. That was crystal clear.
My girl and I were glad this one was over. We are so out of
here.
65
6: BELOW ROCK BOTTOM

As Dea drove us home, I relaxed and dozed off. That didnt last
long. We were abruptly stopped by bright flashing red and blue
lights. A spotlight flooded the view mirror on my side of the car.
Startled, I woke up. There was a highway patrol officer shining in
my face. Dea had been pulled over for speeding. Not cool.
In his Im-so-tough Mr. Police stance, the officer said, I
clocked you doing 75 in a 55 mile-per-hour zone. I tried to
explain, hoping for a break. The officer wasnt hearing it. He was
dead set on writing my girl a ticket.
Supercop returned our documents then explained Deas options
for paying the ticket. I was ticked off. So much so, I insisted on
driving the rest of the way home. Thats when all hell broke loose.
I launched a verbal attack on Dea.
Having dated two-plus years, we had never been at odds with
each other. Never once had we argued, much less yelled at each
other. I completely lost it. I was full of anger, disgust, and outrage.
What the hell were you thinking? Why were you speeding?
You got somewhere to be? You got a hot date waiting on you?
What in the hell is wrong with you?
This is some crazy stuff, I ranted.
Completely unglued, I declared all-out war on my woman. Her
big beautiful eyes filled with tears as she gazed at me in fear.
What in the hell are you crying for? Damn! Im the one who
just got shafted. Everyone knew I should have placed in the top
three of that contest. Then you had to go and get a speeding
ticket. Man, was I pissed.
Back in Columbus, I dropped Dea off at her place. I went
straight home to soak in my misery. Poor me. The whole world
was out to get me. Straight to the cocaine I went, cooking up $500
worth. My pipe and me, it was freebasing time.
Two weeks later, on September 24, 1984, I competed at the

Metropolitan Bodybuilding Championship in Cincinnati. Coked
up, Id been on the pipe all night. Actually, Id been on the pipe for
the last two weeks. I hadnt lifted any weights since Akron.
Had it not been for my cousin Bump, I wouldnt have made
that contest. Thanks to him, I took third place. After that contest, I
didnt touch another weight for 18 months. It was the longest Id
ever gone without lifting.
O UT O F C O N TR O L
What was next? I was breaking all the rules of the dope game.
First, I had crossed the man above me. Second, I was getting high
on my own supply. I was snorting up a lot of stuff, and it was
taking me out. This was slavery, I was enslaved to the powder.
Addiction to cocaine was pimping me 24/7. The drug had
crystallized inside me. This evil got hold of me. I had fallen to an
all-time low.
Both the weed and cocaine businesses were hurting because of
my sickness. The pressure was on for me to hold down my end. I
had to get back on track.
Everything was out of order. Twisted and out of control, I was
consistently making bad choices. Can there ever be a right way to
do wrong? I certainly didnt have a clue.
I began to neglect my high-end customers. My standards had
fallen to an all-time low. The grip I had on the movers beneath me
in the business was gone. They, too, recognized the errors of my
ways.
Self-destruction rapidly took over. I had lost my grip. I was
sick. I was weak. My thinking was stinking. Instead of reaching
out for help, I reached for the bottom of the bottom. The evil spirit
of the white powder was winning.
68
Chapter 6: Below Rock Bottom
B O TTO M O F R O C K B O TTO M
The word in the streets was that I was strung out. My
reputation was ruined.
At the lowest level of life, wasnt nothing good or nice about
me. My game had no polish. The shine was gone. My high-end,
top shelf customers were gone. My name was mud.
Stuff had gotten rough. Not only was I selling drugs to people
living in the streets, I opened up my home to many of them.
At 3:00 and 4:00 am my doorbell would ring. It didnt matter.
These were now my people. I almost looked forward to it, as I
knew they needed a place to chill and freebase. As for me, I
needed to be around people sick and twisted just like me.
I would let them cook the cocaine they bought from me and
smoke it right there in my home. I studied the process while
waiting for them to pass the pipe. I got high at their expense.
We were cool as long as they were buying and smoking
cocaine. Dope gone, they had to go. Doors locked, music blasting,
it was time for me to test the quality of the cocaine. It was my
job, after all.
All I wanted was the pipe. I didnt want no sex, no sleep, no
food, no bath, no nothing. Just give me my pipe.
Throughout it all, Dea was right there for me. The all-night
binges and paranoia made for many sleepless nights. Still, she had
my back. Behind every good man is a good woman. Or should I
say, behind every male is a good woman.
My stinking thinking prevented me from seeing and
appreciating the good woman I had. My mind was stuck on stupid.
How did I allow a drug to take this 12 away from me and ruin my
life?
You might think I would have straightened up for her. In my
right mind, yes. In my sick, strung out, diseased mind, NO!
Clearly, this woman was the queen of my soul. She was the
queen of my dreams. Everything Id ever hoped for, she was it!
69
Despite all of this, I decided to marry cocaine. Till death do us part

is the vow I made with my new wife, cocaine!
Id rather hit the pipe than make love to my woman. It was
better than sex. This glass penis was pimping me. It did for me
what no woman could do. At least thats what I thought in the
midst of my madness.
C AN T S TO P
Dea is a great cook. Once she prepared a wonderful candlelight
dinner for the two of us. The setting was glamorous and romantic.
The meal was fit for a king. Dea often treated me like a king, even
when I was at my worst. What more could I ask for?
Rather than enjoy the splendor of a love-filled dinner with the
queen of my dreams, I was turned on by the pipe. I made my
choice. Another all-night binge. I had the three things I needed
right here at the flat me, myself, and my pipe! I smoked nearly a
quarter pound of coke.
Fourteen hours later, I went to Deas. She was absolutely
devastated. I have never seen so much hurt, so much pain in
anyones face in my life. Eyes swollen from crying all night, she
said nothing to me. There was nothing I could say or do. Now I
was crying. We cried together.
The elegant dining table was still set. She hadnt moved a
thing. The food was there. The candles were still there, though they
had melted into a waxy mess on the table. The sight was painful.
We had gone through this one time too many. At a loss for
words, I went straight upstairs, crawled into bed, and assumed the
fetal position. I was ready for some serious sleep. How about 18
hours worth?
H UR T P E O P LE H UR T P E O P LE
My girl had done everything she could to keep me away from
the drug. Up to this point, she had not seen me freebasing. That
70
became a thing of the past.

I could not, and would not, attempt to hide my problem
anymore. Dea would walk right in on me. It was horrible.
The ugly side of me had taken over. The drug turned me into a
violent person. The I love yous were always deepest and
greatest following one of my binges. Just like clockwork, I would
smoke up our money and take my hurt and pain out on the closest
person to me, my woman. Go figure.
Yes, I was smoking up our money hers and mine. Dea was a
student at Ohio State University, but my baby decided it was time
to get a job. She found work at the Playboy Club as a Bunny. I
remember when she got the call to work there. She was so excited.
I was too to a point. Mostly I was focused on getting my next hit
on the pipe.
Dea saw me at my lowest point. I could not have asked for a
better woman. Through it all, she was right there for me. Even
when I was full of self-hatred, pity, pain, and misery, she never
failed me.
Deep down inside I wanted to stop freebasing. Believe me, I
tried. I was tired. Why couldnt I just die? Death had to be better
than this. Deeply hurting, I was suicidal to the first degree.
Spineless, I didnt have the courage to harm myself. In the
meantime, I was hurting my woman.
My mind played tricks on me. I felt that someone was
following and watching me. Everyone was out to get me. I was a
marked man. Actually, there were three of them: Me, Myself, and
I! I had turned into my own worst enemy.
In the back of my mind, woven in layers of paranoia and
delusion, Dea became my enemy. Oh, how convenient. Violence
towards her had become my norm. It was automatic during my
state of temporary insanity.
Lost and spaced out, I would raise hell with her for any to no
reason. Yet you couldnt tell me that I didnt love her. The cocaine
71
had my mind all twisted.

You cant keep hurting someone and claim to love him or her.
The two just dont blend. Oil and water dont mix. Neither do love
and extreme hurt.
S E LF -H AT R E D
One things for sure: its difficult to love another when you
dont love yourself. I could never love another when I didnt know
how to love myself. Clearly, I hated myself. That was evident from
my drug addiction.
If ever there was a time to man up, when I started hurting Dea
was it. It takes a man to recognize ones mistakes, to acknowledge
ones faults. Was I a man? Of course not. A male, yes. A man, no!
Though coming from a line of strong men, I failed to be one of
them. My father once said, Youll become a man when you
become responsible. Something had to give. I wanted to be a man.
I had to accept full responsibility for my actions.
As a responsible man, I could hold my head up high. It was
time to start focusing on being a man. A long time coming, the
time could not be better. I was ready to start being a man.
S TU C K O N S T UP ID
Not so fast. Several times, I tried to stop using the drug. I even
tried to get treatment. Nothing seemed to work.
My cousin Phyllis tried to help me. She introduced me to
Nehemiah, the chaplain at the Franklin County jail. He prayed for
and with me and then told me to read three or four scriptures in the
Bible. One was Proverbs 3:56: Trust in the Lord with all your
heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all ways
acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your path.
Nehemiah meant well. He really did. He encouraged me to read
the Bible. All well and good, but I wasnt feeling him or his
message. Point blank!
72
The last thing I needed was someone beating me over the head
with a Bible or preaching at me. The God and Jesus thing was not
getting it for me. I wasnt feeling it. Reaching for the top of the
bottom, I decided there was no hope.
But there had to be hope. The idea of treatment occurred to me.
Blessedly, a ray of hope found me. I just happened to hear a
commercial promoting a drug treatment program on the radio.
Maybe Im not a total loser, I thought. Maybe there was hope.
If you or someone you know has a serious drug or alcohol
problem, please give us a call. Well, I called them! A lady
answered the phone.
Do you have a problem with drugs or alcohol? she asked.
Drugs, I said.
Whats your drug of choice?
Cocaine.
When was the last time you used?
Just now.
Do you have any insurance?
No.
Do you have any money? A bed costs $5,000.
No.
Well, said the lady, how much is your habit a day, Mr.
Smith?
$500 per day.
Well, Mr. Smith, if you can quit getting high for 10 days
guess how much money youll have?
Bitch, if I could quit getting high for 10 days, I wouldnt need
yo monkey ass! I hung up the phone.
Bottom line, I couldnt stop and wouldnt stop. Where could I
go? Lost and strung out, what should I do? Over and over again I
tried to quit cold turkey, but that didnt work.
Off into the darkness I went to get some money to get more
cocaine. Just one more hit, thats all I needed. Just one more rock.
73
All I could think about was hitting the pipe just one more time. The
one more time turned into two, ten, twenty, too many to count.
That scary spaced-out feeling that most freebase addicts chase,
I was chasing it. Make no mistake about it, there was no monkey
on my back. It was a giant, ugly ass gorilla. I was hooked! Got to
get me some money!
S TR AIG H T - UP J UN K IE
The only cash targets I could hit were late night gas stations.
After studying my subject, I would park a couple of blocks away
then make my approach. Robbery time. Gotta get me some money.
Hit and move I went in and out. Sometimes there was lots of
cash. Just too easy. Id grab it then get in my ride for a smooth
getaway. Next stop, the dope mans house for some low grade,
weak cocaine. Thats one of the problems with addiction. You end
up using poor quality, low quantity stuff thats been stepped on
(mixed with cheap fillers to make higher profits). The product was
near worthless. But it didnt matter. I just wanted one more hit.
One morning after a hit and grab, I finally got home around
3:30 with my cheap dope. Five minutes later, all of it was gone.
Upset and tired, I just didnt have the energy to do another robbery.
Even so, I had to have more cocaine.
Geeking (crawling around on the floor, searching for anything
that looks like rock cocaine), I thought I might find enough for one
more hit. If it looked like rock cocaine, I put it in the pipe and tried
to smoke it. There has to be some cocaine in here somewhere, I
thought. Surely some had popped out of the pipe during a past
binge. Out of luck, I hit the streets.
I just had to have one more hit. Riding around, looking for my
next victim, I felt real bad knowing that I was about to rob
someone. The feeling was eerie. This was not me.
74
A N E W D AY
Its amazing what a night of sleep will do. Fatigued, frustrated,
and depressed, I was glued to the bed. I didnt want to face reality.
It was painful to come face to face with another day. Even the
sunshine caused me pain. Instead of my life being right and bright,
it was all doom and gloom.
The shame and guilt were overwhelming. Seriously depressed,
I felt like a real loser. How would I go on? Which way was up? I
was all messed up.
Four days straight nonstop on the pipe, I had smoked a lot of
cocaine. The body can only take so much. My body rebelled
against the abuse. My chest twisted in pain. The pain was so great,
it felt like a mule was kicking me in my chest. Gasping for air, I
couldnt breathe. I tried taking short breaths, but the pain
worsened. It was horrible. I had to stand on my toes, gasping for
air. This was my first brush with death.
Holding my chest, I called out to God and said, Please, Father
God, save me. I dont want to die like this. Never will I freebase
again, dear God. Should you save me from this madness, I promise
to never do it again.
S TI L L N O T R IG H T
Dont know if God heard or answered my prayer, but the pain
stopped. I finally caught my breath. Thank God! Talk about a
blessing! I was scared to death!
Well, not scared enough because I kept right on freebasing. I
completely ignored my cry to God and my promise. Within hours,
I went right back to freebasing cocaine. Yes, I was hooked, a slave
to the drug. Screwed, the pipe had me.
Amazingly, I was able to score large amounts of marijuana to
sell. My suppliers were still willing to front me. They knew I could
move product, and they trusted me to give them their money.
75
At this point I was breaking all the Captains rules:

1. I was using my own product.
2. I was screwing the man above me.
3. Now I was buying dope on consignment.
I meant well. I had the best of intentions to make good on the
deal. It was all too important for me to move the weight, make
money, and save myself.
I started off great. The Captain gave me 25 pounds of pot. My
plan was to flip it and get my credibility back intact. My reputation
was on the line. It was time to put up or shut up.
I moved the first 10 or 12 units like it was nothing. I was back!
Feeling good about myself, I deserved a little love. I pulled out the
tools the pipe, tweezers, alcohol, cotton balls, and candle. All I
needed was cocaine for one good hit or two. A gram would do.
Got the gram. Gram was gone.
I went back and got one more. One more turned into 10. Ten
turned into 20. Back and forth to the coke man I went until the
Captains front money was all smoked up. Ass out! No need for
me to call on God this time.
C AS H IN G IN TH E C H IP S
Feeling the guilt and apprehension of crossing major dope
dealers, I knew I was done. I took money from family and friends
to feed my habit. My mother was my enabler.
Then of course there was God. You would have thought I had
enough sense not to play with God. Not true. I deceived and
ignored Him not once but several times. No longer could I live
with myself. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.
How does a man cry out to God for help, promising to do the
right thing, then renege on the deal? Well, I did just that. I backed
out on the deal I made with God.
76
I felt terrible. I didnt deserve to live another day. This was it;
time to cash in all the chips. One hit had turned into a four-day
binge. I hadnt changed clothes, aint brushed my teeth, and damn
sho didnt take a shower.
The house was a mess. It had been that way for a while now.
Ashtrays were full of cigarette butts. There were carpet burns from
melted candle wax (I used candles to ignite the alcohol torch,
which lit the freebasing pipe). The sink and stove, where I cooked
cocaine, were a mess from spilled baking soda and water. Dirty
dishes had long since piled up all over the place. Beer cans and
food wrappers were everywhere. Rats had found their way into my
place because of all the trash that had piled up inside and outside
of the house. I often was gone several days at a time, which mean
that Casper did his business inside. The smell of dog urine was
everywhere. Hell had to be better than this.
One day Uncle Pack stopped by and caught me in the midst of
this madness. Yelling at me, he said, What in the hell is wrong
with you, Walter? Look at you. Look at this damn place! You did
not come from this. You were raised better than this.
Okay, okay, OKAY, Uncle! I got it, man. I need help, and I
will get it together. Please just leave me alone for now. I promise
you, Uncle, I will fix it. I will get myself together. Just leave me be
for now.
I finally convinced Uncle Pack to leave. I assured him that I
would be all right. I was tired of trying to fix this thing.
Geeking and stoned, I even flushed $1,500 worth of cocaine
down the toilet. It wasnt the first time I had done it either.
Something had to give. What else could I do?
I had gone through a $100,000 addiction, and in the process
had hurt a lot of people. The time had come to end it all. I couldnt
take it anymore. It was time for me to cash in the chips.
For once in my life, perhaps I would get this one right. With a
brand new never used .357, there was nothing else to think about.
77
Gun in hand, I decided to do this thing. Taking myself out would

be far better than another day of this sickness. It was time to end
this living hell.
Seeing the gun leveled against my head, my dog Casper looked
at me. He seemed to want to tell me something.
Are you all right? he asked.
Hell no, I aint all right. Are you all right?
I aint ate in four days, he said.
I aint ate in four days either.
What cha gonna do? he wanted to know.
Im gonna find me another rock.
Desperately, I crawled around on the floor, looking for just one
more hit of cocaine.
Casper and I had been together for 12 years. My mom and I
had raised him from a puppy. This dog knew me well, better than
anyone else. The hurt in Caspers eyes spoke loudly and clearly.
If something happens to you, who in the hell is going to feed
me?
Now that I couldnt handle. Who was going to take care of
Casper? I put the gun down. This was my second brush with death.
It was Gods sign of new life for me. What a blessing.
Spell dog backwards. What do you come up with? I came up
with G-O-D all day. GOD! Yes, God was talking to me through the
dog. They say God looks after fools and babies. I damn sho aint
no baby no mo.
I did come to one realization. I wasnt afraid of dying, but I
was afraid of living. I decided right then and there that I wanted to
live.
Suicide would be too easy. Worse, I feared failing at that and
winding up paralyzed. God was right there with me and had been
all the time. Casper made me know it.
78
7: ONE LAST TIME

My final binge was on a cold Columbus night. The gas and
electricity had been turned off at the crib. The temperature was five
degrees. None of that mattered. It was time for me to chase the
feeling I had been after the last eight months.
After another freebasing all-nighter, I sat silently in near
darkness, freezing my behind off. All I had was a candle for light
and a little warmth.
Helplessness and defeat had taken full control of me. What
used to be a loving home was no more than a frozen tundra. Still, I
didnt think about cashing in the chips. I wanted to live.
I had two dogs now, Casper and Sosa. Sosa was a small white
and light brown mixed puppy. I found him hanging around one of
my soldiers homes. While a candle couldnt keep me warm, my
dogs could. I fell asleep on Casper, and Sosa fell asleep on me.
They kept me warm and saved my life.
When I first brought Sosa home, Casper was jealous and
couldnt stand him. The worst mistake I made was feeding Sosa
out of Caspers bowl. Casper was not on that. He jumped Sosa.
Over time, though, their relationship changed. Casper actually
became protective of Sosa. Casper would growl and bark at me
when I would discipline Sosa. He wouldnt let me scold or chastise
him.
The new addition to the home was a blessing to both Casper
and me. He fit right in. We were glad to have Sosa in the family.
Wherever you saw one you saw the other. Watching them bond
was amazing. They were tight. Real life running dogs.
Casper taught Sosa to be a great guard and watch dog.
Together they protected and took care of me. I couldnt have asked
for a better team. They had my back.
Sosa was named after Alejandro Sosa, the shrewd businessman
who took out Tony Montana (played by Al Pacino) in the movie
Scarface. The movie greatly influenced me. I was as hooked on it

as I was on cocaine.
N UM B E R O N E S ALE S M AN
When I first moved to Columbus, my dream job was to work at
Jack Schmidt Oldsmobile. Now was the time. I decided to go for it,
and got the job. My dream had become a reality. Dea, now my
fiance, and I were elated when I landed the job.
She was happier for me than I was for myself. My number one
cheerleader, she knew I wanted to do the right thing. We both
knew I wanted to keep my new job. Things were looking up.
I received a new car a demonstrator after only seven days
on the job. Thats what I loved most about selling cars. Salesmen
were given brand new cars to drive, free of charge, as long as we
were employed at the dealership and hit our monthly quotas. That
was a plus because I had lost two cars and two motorcycles to
freebasing.
When I received my first paycheck, man, was I excited. I had
outsold 14 out of 16 salesmen. Talk about a good feeling! I was a
rising star. I did what the dealership hired me to do. I sold and
rolled cars! On fire, I blew the other salesmen out. I took command
of my position and the excellent opportunity. My goal was to be
number one. A man on a mission, I had a lot to prove. Things were
looking good.
My success did not make me popular. The tension was high
and thick. Perhaps being able to drive any car on the lot had
something to do with the hate. Maybe it was because I was just
flat-out a darn good salesman.
For whatever reason, none of the sales team cared for me.
Straight-up game haters. I must admit, the hate from the sales
team, including one of the sales managers, bothered me.
One sales manager, Roger Hawkins, did show me some love.
Together we rocked the house. A heck of a team, we did what
80
Chapter 7: One Last Time
management wanted us to do. We sold cars.

Mr. Hawkins and I had great chemistry. We had it going on. It
was nothing for me to sell four or five cars on a Saturday. The
dealership closed at six, but three hours later wed still be closing
deals. The owners were impressed with our teamwork.
Even though I was doing well selling cars, my money was still
funny. In debt because of my drug problem, the pressure was still
on. Both of my suppliers were on me for a payment. I had to do
something. It was time to pick up my hustle and get back in the
streets.
I needed more money. The idea of doing a robbery had crossed
my mind a few times. Selling cars was cool, but the money wasnt
coming in fast enough. My sense of right and wrong was twisted
and out of whack. Something had to give.
With two weeks of moving iron behind me, it was now time to
get paid. I had promised my baby I would handle some business
and catch up on some bills. Oh well, that idea only lasted a minute.
I cashed my first check, $1,400, and ran off to the dope house.
My hustle was on for one reason: to freebase cocaine. For me,
TGIF had new meaning: Thank Goodness Im Freebasing.
C R IM E T IM E
First paycheck, smoked up. I needed more money for another
hit. I got in the company car and was off to rob my first target, a
gas station. With my finger beneath my shirt, I played like I had a
gun.
This is a robbery! Give me your money, I demanded.
Sitting behind a desk, the startled attendant slowly pulled an
automatic pistol from the drawer. In a cautious, hesitant, and
frightened way, he pointed the gun right at me.
Pull the trigger! is what ran through my mind. Lets get it over
with. I only wish he hadnt been so afraid of me. I was tired of
living and tired of hurting others. I actually wanted him to shoot
81
me. I wanted him to take me out of my misery. Pull the trigger!

Pull the trigger! He chose not to.
Surprisingly, although he had a gun in his hand, he was more
afraid of me than I was of him. Clearly, he saw that I didnt have a
gun. Pull the trigger! Shoot me! were the suicidal thoughts racing
through my mind. I was ready to die.
We were at a standstill, and somebody needed to make a move.
I took action. I said, Give me your gun! Amazingly, he did just
that.
Lets take a moment and reverse the script. Put the shoe on the
other foot. Had some psycho walked down on me the way I walked
down on him, I would have taken him out. His desired date with
death would have been met! I would have put him straight out of
his misery.
Thank God, he was not thinking like I was. Fortunately for me
he didnt shoot. This was my third date with death, and the second
blessing from God to live. It was time to get out of there.
N E AR H O P E LE S S
Not so fast. I pointed the pistol at him and said, THIS IS A
ROBBERY. Thats right. Give me the money.
He gave me $150. Thats what I came for. I so wanted to thank
him, but driven by that gorilla on my back, I took off running from
the gas station.
You know the drill. Straight to the dope house I went. Got a
date with the cocaine man. Paycheck and robbery money both
gone. No groceries, no food to eat, no bills paid.
Unable to go home, I found a secluded place to park. I cooked
up the cocaine and smoked all of it right there. Stoned, I went
through $1,500 worth of cocaine.
Beat down, I was done. I didnt have enough energy to do
another robbery. Broke and busted, it was time to call it a night and
go home.
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As usual, Dea was waiting up for me. With one glance she
knew I was through. Totally disappointed and crying, she ran into
her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
I felt completely worthless. How could I be so weak? I lay
down on the living room floor in the fetal position. It didnt take
long to crash. I slept hard that night.
The next morning, I was up and ready to jump on the day. That
feeling was rare. Selling four or five cars on a Saturday was the
inspiration.
The next two weeks were the bomb. I made top dollar on the
cars I sold, including my demonstrator. Usually there was an added
bonus for selling your demo. Thats why we drove new company
cars to show em, roll em, and sell em!
Impressed, management told me to select any demo I wanted. I
did just that. I got myself a 1985 Cutlass Supreme in triple
midnight blue. Totally loaded, it had a sunroof, custom wheels,
velour seats, and of course a booming stereo. It was tight.
Now in my fourth week, I was kicking ass. Number one in
sales again, I had outsold 15 out of 16 salespersons. My second
check was fat. With $1,600 in hand, I vowed to go home and do
the right thing.
Well. I decided to stop by the dope dealers flat to cop just one
gram of cocaine. All of my freebasing gear was in the car. I was
ready to get down just one more time. Afterwards I would go
home.
One trip to the dope mans house turned to two. Two turned to
three Another and another and another
Eventually my $1,600 check went up in smoke. Dea expected
me to come home with the money to help pay our rent. We needed
groceries and had bills to pay. I never made it home.
One thing was for sure, I didnt care about rent, food, my
woman, or anything. After about six trips to the dope house, the
money was gone. Yes, I had freebased the entire check. I couldnt
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pay the Captain or my coke man, and they were pissed.

Though coked all the way up, my desire for one more hit was
outrageous. I needed more money, so I started casing targets.
Bingo. I spotted my next victim, another gas station. I parked the
demo car a few blocks away. Focused, it was time to move in and
complete my mission. Its robbery time. I was geared all the way
up for it, too. No shirt and tie this time. No pretend gun under the
shirt. I had a real gun stuck in my belt under a sweatshirt, and I
meant business. Still, I didnt want to hurt anyone, so I removed
the clip from the gun I had taken from the gas station robbery.
Aggressively I stormed through the door. THIS IS A
ROBBERY! Give me all your cash!
The attendant refused.
That was NOT part of the plan. Surely not the way things had
gone previously. I expected him to panic and give me cash. Not
tonight.
Again I shouted, This is a robbery! Open the register and give
me the money!
Get out of here, he yelled angrily. Im not opening this
register, and Im not giving you any money.
Pointing the gun at him, I tried to open the register. The
thought occurred to me to hit him with the pistol. As fast as I
thought it, I forgot it. Hurting others was not part of the game.
Freaking out, I panicked and ran. I had reached the end of my
stickup career.
Theres truth when you lock eyes with another. The attendants
eyes said to me, This isnt you. Youre not cut out for this. You get
nothing from me.
He was so right! I wasnt cut out for this. Running from the
station I said to myself, I cant do this anymore. Its so wrong.
How did I let myself to get to this point? I got to quit using cocaine
and get myself together. My short-lived robbery career is over!
As I escaped, a lot of stuff ran through my mind. It took
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forever to get through the wet, wooded, swamp-like road. The car
parked so far away didnt help matters either. My high was totally
gone.
No more did I have a desire to do another robbery. All of a
sudden, I desired no more cocaine. I was almost home free.
Nearing the area where I parked, I could hear a police
helicopter approaching. This thing is closing in on me. The light of
a police car shone right on me as it drove by. My car was only
three feet away. I had to put some pep in my steps.
Suddenly the cop cruiser rapidly reversed. This is not looking
good. With a quickness he turned and rode down on me. I managed
to get into my car. With only seconds to think and react, I took out
the gun, reached down, and tossed. It slid under at least three cars.
Never had I been so close to getting caught. Butt out! Like most
criminals, I had made one too many mistakes. There would be no
escape.
B LE S S IN G IN D IS G U IS E
When I attempted to drive off, the officer quickly moved to
block me in. Jumping out of his car, he zoomed in on me. With his
riot gun drawn, he took aim, shielding himself behind his door.
Place your hands on the steering wheel. Keep your hands where I
can see them.
Small in stature, it was clear to me that the officer was green.
His hands and the gun he held in them were shaking like a leaf on
a tree. The newbie looked to be fresh out of the police academy.
Other cop cars began rolling down on me. Surrounded, the jig
was up. Get out of the car slowly.
Keep your hands where I can see them, another officer
yelled. Riot guns pointing at me, these officers were ready to take
me out!
Numb from the cocaine, my mind in a fog, and my body tired
from chasing the high, I had no problem complying.
85
Lie face down on the ground, and DONT MOVE, the

arresting officer ordered. One of the officers had his foot on my
ankle, another had a foot on my wrist, and the arresting officer had
his foot on my neck. Obviously afraid, he placed the barrel of his
weapon against my head. He could have cared less about my face
being pressed into the hot, sticky summer asphalt.
Without hesitation, I did just as I had been ordered.
Look at the arms on this nigger. What joint have you been
in? one officer growled.
Another said, If you move one muscle, nigger, I will blow
your brains out.
The universe was providing me the perfect death by cop
opportunity. All I had to do was get up and run. Cops have a
history of shooting Black men in the back. Surprising myself, I
realized that I didnt want to die. I wasnt as suicidal as I thought. I
didnt move.
Some might say, Too bad you parked so far away and got
caught. I say, fortunately for me, I parked right where I needed to
be. Right where I could get caught!
Then and there I realized God had a purpose for my life.
Surviving the cops was yet another sign of Gods new life for me.
This was another brush with death and a blessing in disguise. Now
I want to live!
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8: BUSTED
The officers told me to get on my knees and place my hands
behind my head. Instead, I kept lying there. They yelled again,
Get on your knees, place your hands behind your head.
I said, You just told me if I moved one muscle, you would
blow my brains out. If you want me to get up, youre going to have
to pick me up. The officers helped me up, handcuffed me, and
escorted me to the police car.
My mother always said, If you play with fire youll get
burned. I attempted and failed to rob a gas station on July 18,
1985. My luck had run out. I was in custody. My thug life had
come to an end.
Surprisingly, the officers who transported me to jail were cool.
We began to kick it. The more we talked, the more we connected.
The officer who was driving checked me out in his rearview
mirror. He thought he knew me. We both were baffled as to where
we may have crossed paths.
An officer saying that he knows you from somewhere cant be
good. He might be thinking about another crime. That would not
have been cool.
The officers had put the cuffs on me too tightly. They were
killing me. My physical thickness and lack of flexibility were not
helping.
Stating that I was a bodybuilder, I told the officers that the
cuffs were too tight. It was then that one of them asked, What
gym do you work out at?
OBriens on Livingston Avenue, I said.
Walter Smith? he asked.
Yes, Walter Smith. I train at Steve OBriens gym.
Thats where we knew each other from. Both officers trained
there. They pulled the car over and removed the handcuffs from
behind, placing them in front of me.
One of the officers then asked, What happened, man? How

did you wind up here?
My response was simple: COCAINE!
His eyes were sad. I could see and feel the pain that he felt for
me. It was deep beyond description.
Upon arrival at the jail, the officers escorted me to the robbery
section. They removed the cuffs. We shook hands, and they went
their way.
Three more individuals were brought in for robbery: two
Blacks on the same charge, one White guy by himself.
With four of us in custody, the sheriff started processing us. It
took forever. Our possessions were confiscated. Our street clothes
were taken in exchange for jailhouse blues. That was a first for me.
I was humiliated.
They took our mug shots. Turn to the right, look straight, face
the left were the commands barked out by the sheriff. Sober now,
my thinking was clear.
Fingerprinting was next. The sheriff pressed my fingers and
thumbs onto a black inkpad and then onto a card.
T IM E TO H E A L
Initially I was in a cell that held 12 men. It was there that I
went through withdrawal. The cocaine worked its way out of my
body. For the first three days, all I did was sleep.
Having no appetite, I ate little to nothing. Every time I went to
the restroom, my bowels were running. The feeling was horrible.
Never could I ever live through that again. In jail, there might
be as many as 20 men watching as you use the restroom, whether
its number one or number two. Jail was not for me, though it was
an opportunity to get rested.
Whenever I urinated and sweated, I could smell the cocaine
leaving my body. Now that was deep. Having no other choice, I
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Chapter 8: Busted
kicked the habit cold turkey. I felt relieved. New life was coming
back into my body. Never again would I use cocaine.
The 17 days I spent in the county jail cured my addiction.
Being locked up saved my life. It was a blessing. It was equal to
120 days of intense drug treatment.
So be it. When it was time to go, the only person I could call
was my dear friend Gail Davis. She posted the $10,000 bond for
me. I was out of there.
Against the wishes of some church members, I stayed at the
home of my best friend, Jim Bellard, while out on bond. His wife
Roberta, daughter Stephanie, and son Jomo treated me like family.
They took great care of me.
Nobody wants you when youre down and out, not unless
theyre true friends. The Bellards were true friends. All the way to
the end, JB had my back. When no one else would take me in, JB
and his family did.
R UN B R O TH E R R UN
Freed on bond, the first thing I did was find a good attorney.
His name was Richard Colby. He looked into my arrest. I was not
prepared for what he had to drop on me.
You need to get a hat.
I was like, what!
You need to get as far away from here as possible. Dont look
back. Stuff is not looking good for you, young man.
Shocked by his advice I asked, Why do you feel that way?
His response was simple. Move to New York City or Los
Angeles. Both are huge cities. Get lost in one of them.
Mr. Colbys advice threw me for a loop. Why would he
suggest such a thing when I had no record? I had no problem
standing up to this thing. I had already decided to own up to my
mistakes.
Mr. Colby reiterated his advice. If I were you, I would get as
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far away from Columbus as I could.

RUN? Why should I run?
For the third time he said, Get lost. Create a new identity for
yourself and start your life all over again. Get yourself together.
Youre a sharp, talented, and intelligent man. Youll have no
problem making it. You just have to be smart and stay out of
trouble. I have faith in you. Columbus law enforcement would
never find you in New York or Los Angeles.
His advice to run was so strange. At the same time, I felt a
connection. Keeping it real, I felt comfortable with him.
For a brief second I did consider running. It seemed like a great
idea. Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Colby knew something but couldnt
tell me.
What should I do? Go to prison or look over my shoulder for
the rest of my life? After scratching my head and thinking for a
moment, I quickly cancelled the idea. Deep down inside, I really
wanted to do the right thing.
I thought about Dea and my family. I had a son and his mother
to support. What about my parents? Being on the run, I couldnt be
openly in touch with them. The thought was too much for me.
J US T U S
The idea was not making sense. This was my first offense.
How about a break? With drug paraphernalia on me, I clearly
needed help. Drug treatment would have been right for me.
My freebasing tools had been in the car. The only thing I didnt
have was the cocaine. That had to count for something.
Turns out, the detectives didnt keep the evidence. They got rid
of it. Had they kept the stuff, it surely would have helped my
defense. Needless to say, the detectives were not trying to help me.
Welcome to the American criminal justice system. The system
is not fair when it comes to Black men. J. Edgar Hoover, the first
Director of the FBI, once said, Justice is incidental to law and
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Chapter 8: Busted
order. Now thats deep. The system never was about justice or a
fair trial or our rights at all.
Lesson learned: the only justice in this system is Just Us! Men
of Color!
G R E AT E M P LO Y M E N T O P P O R TUN I TY
Drug treatment would have been nice. I really wanted to get
myself together. Also, I needed a job. I found one in the newspaper
that looked good and answered the ad. It was the beginning of the
mobile phone era. I interviewed with the owner (an investor and
stockbroker) of Cellular One Telephone Service, and we hit it off
from the jump. He liked my style and ambition. I liked his hustle
and vision.
I was hired on the spot. I became an independent representative
of Cellular One. This was good stuff!
Our goal was simple: sell Ameritech mobile phones and win!
I couldnt have been in a better place at a better time. This was
truly a ground-floor opportunity. The new phones were going to be
big in the future, and I had to be part of it. That meant I had to get
myself together. Life is what you make of it.
Straight up, I explained what I was dealing with. After learning
my situation, he wanted to help. He cared enough to help me stay
out of prison.
Quickly we put together our plan. Already busy, he needed me
to take this great idea and fly. It was time to go to work and make
this thing happen.
Things were looking good. I rode the bus downtown and
picked up his car from his office. I made cold calls from the mobile
phone in his new car. We were on the frontline of world history.
O N E L AS T S TAN D
But for me, the industry was too new and I was too broke. I
needed cash and needed it badly. Because of all the stress and
91
pressure from the pending robbery charges, my mind was not on

selling phones. The concept was too new and required lots of
patience, focus, and tenacity. I had none of these. I never closed a
mobile phone deal.
Thug life started calling me again. My life was too far out of
control. Hitting the streets, I was able to make enough connections
to get cocaine and marijuana to sell. My partner Teddy let me use
his 1980 Buick Deuce and a Quarter Electra 225.
Back to the streets I went. I had to move stuff. Amazingly, I
didnt use any of the cocaine. Seventeen days in the county jail
broke that habit. Plus, I was trying to stay out of the joint.
With cops hot on my trail, I would always shake them before
working any deals. Pulling strings was essential for me to stay out
of the joint. I needed a good attorney, and the best cost. I had to
hustle. I was focused.
All income-producing options were on the table. Back in the
day in KC, inspired by my brother, also known as Dancing Greg
at the club, I did a little male stripping. No biggie. Tips were good,
plus it was a legal hustle as long as no prostitution was involved.
So I decided to set up an all-male review at King Tuts, the Black
hot spot in Columbus.
Sunny Martin and I locked the gig down, and the all-male
review was on. I was back on my grind. I left King Tuts after
finalizing the deal.
R E -A R R E S TE D
Driving away in my partners car, I was soon pulled over for
having highway lights on. They were on because one of the
headlights was busted. Give them a reason, and theyll pull you
over every time.
The officer ran my license. When he returned to the car he
stated that I was under arrest. Shocked, I asked, For what?
Robbery, he said.
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Chapter 8: Busted
That couldnt be. I had just spoken with my attorney the day
before. He said a trial date hadnt been set! Of course, the police
officer was not hearing any of that. Assisted by other officers, he
placed me under arrest and impounded my partners car.
When I arrived at the police station, I was confronted by
Detective James Straight. He asked, Do you know anything about
any murders or dead bodies?
I said no.
What about rapes? Do you know anything about any rapes?
I dont know anything about any of that, I said.
Well youre a suspect, said Detective Straight.
A suspect for what?
RAPE! he said.
Come on, man, I said, this isnt television. I havent raped
anyone. PLEASE dont try it.
Just before leaving the interrogation room, Detective Straight
asked, Who do you know that you can turn over to us to get
yourself a break?
I cant help you there, I said. I dont know anyone. Sorry.
If you cant do the time, dont do the crime. Telling on
someone was completely out of the question. Snitching never
crossed my mind. It wasnt part of my game. Only cold cowards
snitch to get themselves out of a case.
The detectives worked overtime to get cats new in the system
to squeal. The weak always break. When I was re-arrested on
October 13, 1985, they did their best to get me to talk. As a firsttime offender, they assumed I was weak. Far from it!
The detectives would come over all times of night, trying to get
cats to tell on others in the streets. There was a darker side of that
process. By coming over late at night, other inmates would wonder
whether you had called the police to tell on someone.
Now thats snitching. The detectives knew inmates would think
you were snitching. They used this strategy to the max.
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It never worked with me. Neither did it work with other

convicts. Inmates yes, convicts NO! Most inmates would do
anything to save their ass. Convicts, for the most part, owned up to
their actions.
94
9: ADAPTATION
Bond was set at $10,000, again, but I didnt ask for help. It was
time to face the music. Years back when I had gotten myself in
trouble, my cousin Archie Perkins told me, You got yourself into
that mess, now get yourself out! I never forgot those words of
wisdom. To this day I live by those same words.
Something else was bothering me. The word was out on the
streets that I was on lockdown. That, of course, had many on pins
and needles.
I had hurt a lot of people. I also owed more than $100,000 to
key players in the game. Not good! My name was mud. Things had
gotten pretty ugly.
The Captain of our organization did consider getting me out.
He ordered a hit on me to the tune of $10,000. It was strictly
business. This thing is getting serious. I was better off in jail than
on the streets.
Whether in the joint or dead, the chances of getting his money
from me were all but impossible. Cleaned up, which I was, it
would have been worth it for him to post my bond and put me back
to work. It was all part of the game.
Our team was tight. I had been a tremendous asset to the
business. Though no one else would touch me, I believed the
Captain would get me out. He always had my back. He was like a
father to me. I was his lieutenant and left hand man. The first
lieutenant was his right hand man.
Reality was cutting my inner spirit like a hot double-edge
sword with a salt chaser. The pain on the inside was severe. Time
to pay the piper.
Bail was out. I started mentally preparing myself to go prison.
The error of my ways had come full circle. A dark cloud loomed
over my head.
Detectives had been to the home of my elderly neighbors, Mr.

and Mrs. C, to question them. Now that really ticked me off! Mr.
and Mrs. C were like parents to me. I called Detective Straight and
said, Anything you need to know about me, ask me. Dont bother
my elder neighbors. I assured him that I was cooperating
regarding the robbery, but it was obvious he cared nothing about
them. Why should he?
I had done all I could to keep Mr. and Mrs. C from knowing I
was locked up. Nor did I want family and friends to know I was in
jail. Bump was the only person who knew. Our plan was to tell
everyone that Id gone away to college. So much for that.
In the 15-count indictment against me, I was accused of raping
three White women between September 1984 and May 1985
(among other things). After my October 13, 1985, arrest, the
Columbus Dispatch (February 1, 1986) said that finding the
evidence linking to me to the three rape victims was sheer
luck.1 Yet Id never seen any of the women before.
Several months into my bit, I ran across the article. It cold
shocked me. I now see how Mr. and Mrs. C, and everyone else,
knew about my arrest and robbery conviction. The rapes added
insult to injury. Im sure they were all devastated.
At the end of the line, my cause was nearly lost. What am I
gonna do? I cant sit around doing nothing. Watching TV and
playing cards all day is out. What would my mother have me do?
R E AD IN G AN D F ITN E S S
When it came to education, reading was always big on
Mothers list. She used to say, Reading will teach you anything
you want to know and take you any place you want to go. You can
travel all over the world in a book. Shed make us read one hour
every day. Eventually I read on my own.
Now that I was on lockdown, the time was perfect for picking
up a book. Whatever had words on it, I read it. The Bible,
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Chapter 9: Adaptation
magazines, newspapers it didnt matter. Reading cover to cover

became my norm. I was a man on a mission, and I really got into it.
Soon being in jail didnt matter so much. I could have let being
locked up obsess my mind, but I refused to accept the fact that I
was in jail. Reading was my escape.
I wasnt so nave as to ignore the severity of my situation. Nor
was I out of touch with the fact that I had messed up big time. This
thing is a real nightmare. But I refused to allow my mind to be
locked up like the others in the jail cell with me.
For them, all hope was gone. For me, it was all or nothing! A
positive attitude and prayer were my salvation. It is said that prayer
is good for the soul. My soul was in need of some new and good
stuff. Prayer was simple. It cost me nothing, and I didnt have to
depend on anyone else to do it! It was a way for me to connect
with my inner self. Anything to inspire SELF, I was on it.
What would Dad have me do? He used to say, Be all that you
can be, and live your dream. You can do and be anything that you
want to be.
Exercise was big on his list. While we were growing up, Dad
made us do sit-ups and pushups every morning before going to
school. I remember the first time we stayed the weekend with
friends. When we got back home that Sunday I said, Daddy, they
didnt do their sit-ups and pushups.
Thats all right, son. Just always make sure you do yours.
I started doing sit-ups and pushups in jail. A blast from the
past, it felt good. Man did I need that stimulating escape.
Its time to recapture the essence of both Moms and Dads
teachings. Its important to exercise both the brain and body. The
time is right for intense study and working out. I must strengthen
myself inside and out!
P R O G R AM M IN G
Many staff in the county jail pointed me in the right direction.
97
Zach Scott is the first person who comes to mind. Young and new
in the sheriffs division, he happened to be hired around the same
time I was arrested. He really made a difference in my life. He
invested time and energy in me. He wanted to make a difference,
and that he did. Because of his caring, I maintained a positive
attitude towards change.
Officer Scott introduced me to several other staff members, one
of whom was social worker Susan Barrett. She was one of the most
positive staff persons. Not only was she good at her job, but she
genuinely cared about us.
That made a world of difference. ALL of us on lockdown
appreciated her, Zach, and the other caring staff. Through selfawareness programs, they changed our lives for the better. Their
input prepared me not only for prison, but for life.
Susan inspired us to work together. We knew nothing about
unity. For the first time in our lives, broken men were working in
unison for a good cause. Simply put, it worked.
Most of us were inspired to keep it real with each other. In
order to do that, we had to keep it real with ourselves. The better
we were able to do that, the better we were able to understand each
other. Learning how to get along with one another was worth its
weight in gold. It was all about teamwork.
Straight up, we wanted to be better. Sharing the most painful
things about ourselves with one another was one of the most
important things we did. The hangout time was great. We all
benefited greatly from the sessions.
Another caring person was Chaplain Nehemiah Chambers. I
was glad to see him. A few months earlier, my cousin Phyllis had
introduced him to me. He had tried to help me get off the pipe.
What a remarkable person! Flat out, he was a good, sincere
person. He truly was a man of God. He really connected with us.
That made it easy for me to trust and respect him.
Before becoming the chaplain, he served as a deputy sheriff.
98
For so many reasons, that was a good thing. He connected with us

from the street level. Inspired by God, he cared about us. It didnt
get any more real than that.
Now I could let the words of Proverbs 1:5, the scripture he
gave me a lifetime ago, sink into my heart: A wise man will hear,
and will increase learning; and a man of understanding shall attain
unto wise counsels. Powerful words! I was finally ready to listen
to people who were wiser and smarter than I was.
Chaplain Nehemiah helped me so much in terms of dealing
with the pending false rape charges. So did other the sheriffs.
Working as a runner, * I was able to talk more freely with them.
A few of them believed in my innocence so much so, they
got an attorney for me. Her name was Carol Schneider.
J AI LH O US E J U S T IC E
Negativity and violence play their parts in jail. Certain inmates
will always try to take advantage of first-time offenders. But not all
first-timers are stupid, nave, and weak. I surely wasnt. I had spent
too much time in the streets.
I had to whoop inmates, not once, not twice, but three times.
The first was in a card game. We were gambling for goodies
(snacks and other items from the commissary). What the heck. I
thought Id try my hustle hand.
Problem was, the inmate I was gambling against and his friend
double teamed me. The chump got up on the bunk above me and
played like he was going to sleep. What he was really doing was
looking at my hand and signaling to his partner what I was
holding. Not cool.
Peeping their game, I decided to play my hand. Without
*
A runner assists staff and inmates with things like meals, cleaning, and
other items of aid. The job allowed for a little more freedom. Perks such
as extra food and access to the gym and library went with the job.
99
hesitation, I snatched him from the top bunk and threw him to the
floor. It was time for some jailhouse justice. Completely losing it, I
whooped his punk ass and took him out. Next I grabbed the other
one. He wanted no part of me, and I was cool with that. Squaring
up the gambling deal, we were straight.
Gambling was big in jail and most everybody wanted some of
the action, including me. Which brings me to my next incident.
Knowing how scandalous cats can be in jail, I figured a football
game pool would be a safe bet. How wrong was I?
We made bets on the final score of a selected football game.
Whoever picked the correct numbers would be the winner. It sure
would be nice to pick the right numbers, I thought. Short on
money, I had to try my hand. The pool was worth $25 in goodies.
Winner takes all. That was a good hit, especially since I had no
money coming in.
The runner that day organized the pot. As many as 20 players
from some of the cells on our floor placed bets. Each person had to
put two goodies in. The runner collected the goodies from
everyone in the pool.
Broke and busted, I was all the way in. The winner would sit
pretty on snacks for a while. With no financial support from the
streets, it was all about making my bit easier. I had to hustle.
I won the bet!
Good news: my cellmates and the runner identified me as the
winner. Plus I had the winning ticket.
Bad news: after a couple of hours had gone by, the runner
came back and claimed someone else had won the pot. We all
knew that was a lie. Okay.
I see whats going on. These chumps are trying to rip me off.
Here I go again, having to deal with some more jailhouse BS (bad
stuff).
They thought I was an easy target. I guess I had SUCKER
printed across my forehead. They didnt know Id never go out like
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that. I would not let this chump get away with this. Doing so would
suggest that I was soft. Given that this was my first time in jail, I
just couldnt allow that to happen. I had to step up or shut up.
My first plan was to be a runner the same time he was. On lock
down 24/7, that clearly wasnt going to happen, so I put plan B
into effect. Patiently I waited to get this chump. I let some time go
by. I wanted him to think I had forgotten about the rip-off.
One evening the runner brought dinner to our cells. Now!
Making my move, I grabbed him through the slot where the meal
trays were placed and put a chokehold on him. Zoned all the way
out, I held on until he nearly passed out. The brothers in the cell
convinced me to let him go. It was not my intention to kill him
over $25. I did have to let him and everybody else know that I was
not to be messed with.
My final incident came late one night while playing cards. No
gambling this time! We were playing spades just for fun. While
doing what we do talking stuff and just flat-out having a good
time a guy on the phone stepped completely out of line.
Apparently talking to his woman he yelled at us, saying, Dont
yall see me on the phone? You need to tone it down. Not good.
Mr. Lover Boy spent most of his time on the phone. Hed been
cool otherwise, but he screwed up when he tried to get us to quiet
down. It wasnt what he said; it was how he said it.
Full of false courage, I guess because he was on the phone with
his woman, he said, Shut up! Cant yall see Im on the phone?
Yall need to shut the hell up and quit making so much noise!
Shocked, we looked at each other. I said to another brother,
Did he just say what I think he said? Who in the hell does he
think hes talking to?
Doing as instructed, we shut the hell up and continued to play
spades. Given his boldness, we had to comply. Yeah, right.
He had to know his ass was out. Eventually Mr. Tuff Guy
ended his call. I approached him.
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Weve got a problem, I said. Who in the hell do you think

youre talking to? I slapped the cigarette out of his mouth, then
forced him against the wall. He offered no resistance.
The next time you want to play Mr. Tuff Guy, you might want
to think twice, I said.
In all three instances, I was wrong. You got to know when to
hold them and when to fold them. There are convict rules and staff
rules. These cats violated convict rules. Most of all, I was a
walking time bomb. No more cards and gambling for me.
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10: TRIAL TIME

The time had come for me to face the music. Charged with
robbery, I went to trial on January 16, 1986. I had faith in my
attorney, Mr. Colby, and felt that he would keep me out of the
joint. The good thing was that I had no prior record.
It was time to discuss a plea bargain. Guilty, I had to own up to
my bad choices. My attitude was, you got me so I must pay.
Mr. Colby and I discussed my options. He told me that I faced
four or five years and that he had negotiated four years of
imprisonment for me. I was comfortable with that choice. I went
before the Honorable Judge Gillie for sentencing. All the guys in
jail said that he was a good judge. He appeared to be just that.
Mr. Colby said that the judge would ask me a series of
questions, and I was to answer yes to them all. Cool. So far so
good.
As I stood before the judge, reality set in. My answer was yes
to all the questions. Judge Gillie then asked, You do realize you
are faced with five years?
I stated no, I did not know that I was faced with five years.
Five years was not what we had agreed to. Whispering in my ear,
Mr. Colby explained that he had worked a four-year deal for me.
He asked me to be patient and let the judge finish his sentencing. I
panicked. Fear took control of me. Scared to death of the five
years, I fired Mr. Colby.
N O VIC E M I S T AK E
If there was one mistake I made, it was firing Mr. Colby.
Remember now, this was my first time in the system. Not only was
this new to me, but it was scary. Id be lying if I were to tell you I
wasnt scared.
Things were not going the way we had discussed. My mind

was locked on four years. The thought of doing five smashed me. I
felt I had no other choice but to fire him.
Also in the back of my mind were the pending rape charges. A
lot was going through my head. Point blank, I couldnt see myself
doing five years.
Having fired Mr. Colby, I contacted my pastor, Reverend
Harold E. Pinkston, Sr., and asked him to help me get another
attorney. I felt it best to trust someone I knew. I placed my faith in
Pastor Pinkston. He recommended Attorney Webster Lyman.
Mr. Lyman was also a member of Good Shepherd Baptist
Church. We sat side by side in the bass section of the church choir.
We knew each other well.
We asked the court to appoint him as my attorney. The court
honored that request. Not only did I appreciate his willingness to
represent me, but I loved and highly respected him. He was, in
spite of it all, my Christian brother. That was all good but, as it
turned out, not for the crisis at hand.
A darn good civil attorney, he was like a fish out of water in
criminal court. The players in criminal court didnt know him, and
he didnt know them. In the middle, I wound up being the loser.
C H UR C H H E LP
After I got my pastor and Mr. Lyman involved, another church
member got on board. My good friend Jim Bellard (JB) offered to
help. My hope was to get drug treatment. A social worker himself,
JB got right on it!
JB and Mr. Lyman worked towards getting me drug treatment
in lieu of conviction. The courts said there were no beds available
for treatment. That didnt stop JB. He took matters into his own
hands and went beyond the call of duty. I was accepted into a
program.
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Chapter 10: Trial Time
On December 12, 1985, in response to JBs efforts, Jacki A.

Skinner, BSSW Court Liaison, wrote the following letter on behalf
of Comp Drug/Residential Services:
Dear Mr. Bellard:
This communication is being written in regard to an
interview held on December 4th, 1985, for purposes
of drug treatment at our program. At that time it
was determined that Mr. Smith would be an
acceptable candidate for our program. We do ask
that should the judge grant Mr. Smith probation
and place him in our program that it be a condition
of his probation to successfully complete our
program. If we can be of further assistance, feel
free to contact us.
True to my word, I worked hard to get myself together. I
participated in every program I could. My desire was to get a
second chance at life. Thank God for the county jail!
More help came from Susan Barrett, a social services rep. She
wrote the following letter:
Walter Smith has been incarcerated in the Franklin
County Jail since October 13, 1985. During this
time, I have had the opportunity to meet with and
discuss with Mr. Smith his drug problem. Mr. Smith
has been actively seeking means of treatment for his
drug problem and expresses a sincere desire in
finding help. He has met many obstacles in his
search for treatment, such as a lack of funds, but he
has not given up! He shows the dedication needed
to overcome such a problem. Mr. Smith has been an
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active participant in weekly Narcotics Anonymous

meetings, where he gives much insight and
inspiration to others
T H E L IN E UP
On January 14, 1986, I was placed in a lineup for the rape
charges. It happened so fast. A female employee came to my cell
and told me to get ready for a lineup. I could hear her going to
other cells in search of Black men with beards.
I learned that the rapist was supposed to have had a beard.
Unable to use a razor, I had grown a full beard. Arrested
October 13, 1985, I had no idea the rape suspect had a beard. Had I
known, I would have shaved. On the streets I had been clean
shaven.
It was 7:00 am. Officers escorted me to the lineup. The male
officers were cool. The female, seemingly in charge, was a witch
on a broom. Off we went to where inmates dressed out. I was
instructed to put on a bright orange jail workers jumpsuit. For
nearly two hours I stood out like a sore thumb. I was more like a
200-plus-pound pumpkin with a beard. Handcuffed, I was seated
behind the main entrance-processing desk of the jail. Everyone had
to sign in at the desk, and I was in clear view of everyone entering
the jail. I even waved at Mr. Lyman as he entered the jail. The
victims, too, entered the same way.
Photographs were taken of each inmate. We were then taken to
another floor for the lineup. At first everyone was kicking it. A few
guys cracked jokes. Knowing a couple of the brothers, I explained
to them why I was in the lineup. The tone quickly changed. Stuff
wasnt so funny no more.
I outweighed everyone by 40 to 60 pounds. The brother closest
to my weight was 186 pounds. He was removed from the lineup.
One of the brothers said, Damn, man, if theyre looking for
muscles yo ass is out. This thing was not looking good. These
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cats knew what the deal was. They knew what I was facing.
Wanting to make light of the situation, we went back to cracking
jokes. The only thing I could say was that I wasnt worried about a
woman picking me out of the lineup because I hadnt raped
anyone.
This is it, and here we go. We marched into a little booth
behind a two-way glass. Then came the commands. Enter and
walk straight and face the glass. Stand on the X beneath you and
look forward. Take a quarter turn to your right. Turn to your right.
Turn to your right. Now face the front. We did as we were told.
Number two step forward. Number two, that was me. I
stepped forward, then took quarter turns to the right as instructed.
This time I did them alone.
Things were getting uglier and not looking good at all. I was
placed back in the line. In and out, it was over. The brothers
wished me well as they were returned to their cells.
S LI P P IN G IN TO D AR K N E S S
Aint no jokes popping off now. Handcuffed and shackled, I
was escorted to visit with Attorney Lyman. After pleasantries, Mr.
Lyman asked how I was doing. Trying to appear strong, the only
thing I could say was, Im fine.
I then asked, Did she pick me?
She? he said with a look of surprise in his eyes. The surprise
turned to sorrow. THEY!
They? They who? I asked.
Three women, he said. Three White women.
Talk about being blown away, I was speechless. This thing was
real.
Mr. Lyman had nothing to do with selecting the men who stood
in the lineup with me. Neither was he involved with setting up the
lineup. This thing is not working for me. Stevie Wonder and Ray
Charles could see that.
107
The plot had thickened. Many had warned me about the deceit
and trickery of the system. A first time offender, no money, Black,
broke, no family, and addicted to drugs, I was ass out! In need of a
scapegoat, the system could not have found a better person.
What have I gotten myself into? This thing is getting serious. I
went back to my cell. I felt like a Mack truck loaded with 20 tons
of bricks had hit me. Where do I go from here?
The first thing that came to mind was Jesus. If ever there was a
time when I needed Him, this was it! Always having been a
praying man, I prayed longer, harder, and with more sincerity.
God, I turn to you, as I know not what else to do.
Without a second thought, I felt the need to speak with my
pastor. Mr. Lyman told him what had happened at the lineup and
that it was likely that Id be charged with rape.
Within a couple of days, Pastor Pinkston came to visit me. His
entire family joined him Mrs. Pinkston, sons Harold, Jr., and
Timothy, and daughters Christina and Patricia. I was so glad to see
them. WOW was all I could say.
This beautiful family was vibrant and full of joy. I was happy
to see them but sad that they had to see me like this. It was hard to
smile and keep my head up. They all packed the little booth. A
thick glass petition separated us.
Following Pastor Pinkstons lead, we all placed our hands on
the glass. It was a somber moment. Even so, the room was filled
with a blessed spirit.
For that brief moment, I felt a small degree of comfort. Pastor
and his family seemed to believe in my innocence. I really needed
that.
Moved, all I could say was, I DID NOT DO IT! I firmly
admitted to doing the robberies but swore that I was incapable of
raping someone.
Pastor Pinkston then lifted us up in prayer. Hungry for relief
108
and comfort, I totally succumbed to the prayer and the power of

God. I didnt know what else to do. In desperation, I vowed to turn
my life over to Jesus. That was the only thing I knew to say and
do. With a look of surprise in his eyes, Pastor asked his family to
step out of the booth.
K E E P IT R E A L , P A S TO R
It was just the two of us. Spirit cleansed, I had prepared myself,
as best I could, for this moment.
I had fallen far beyond rock bottom. I was struggling to reach
the top of the bottom. At the mercy of Pastors God-blessed
wisdom, my mind and soul awaited his advice.
He then looked me straight in my eyes. With both of our hands
pressed firmly against the glass, Pastor said, This thing is serious,
Walter. Very serious! You understand that, dont you?
My heart-wrenching, painful response was a sullen YES, I
fully understand the serious nature of the charges Im facing,
Pastor Pinkston. I fear no evil. My faith is strong, and Im going to
turn it all over to Jesus and hope for the best. I dont know what
else to do.
Walter, always have faith and believe in God, but youre
dealing with some very serious charges. You cant sit around
waiting for Jesus to come and rescue you. Youre going to have to
fix this yourself, said Pastor. Education will be your key to
freedom. You must take care of yourself, and work smarter and
harder than youve ever worked in your life. Yes, keep your faith
strong and dont let go. This is all on you!
God helps those most who most help themselves!
B AC K TO TH E R O B B E R Y
This stuff was rough. First things first. I needed to focus on the
robbery and get rid of the gun charge. It carried a mandatory threeyear sentence. Since this was my first offense and I had not harmed
109
anyone or shot the gun, the prosecutor agreed to drop the gun
charge. That was a break. Aside from the drugs, I NEVER would
have robbed anyone. I was sick and in need of help!
For me to get drug treatment, pursuant to Ohio Revised Code
2951.02, the robbery had to be dropped to theft. Mr. Lyman
discussed those terms with me. I could live with that.
My freebasing paraphernalia had been on me when I was
arrested in July. Alcohol, surgical clips, cotton, and pipe, I had
been ready to get down. Yet all of it had been destroyed. Why was
that? Real simple.
The items would have turned the courts opinion towards
treatment. As a first-time offender, the paraphernalia would have
helped me greatly. Yeah right. In my dreams. The detectives had
other plans.
My first attorney, Richard Colby, had discussed a flat time of
four years. Thats exactly what he had explained to me. I later
learned that such a sentence was not possible according to Ohio
law.
Judgment day had befallen me. The following exchange took
place between the judge and the prosecutor on January 16, 1986.
Judge Gillie:
Prosecutor:
Judge Gillie:
Prosecutor:
Judge Gillie:
Prosecutor:
Judge Gillie:
Prosecutor:
Has this man got a prior record?

No, Your Honor.
What about Kansas City?
Nothing, Your Honor.
How about as a juvenile?
Nothing.
Nothing!
Nothing. However, we have some very serious
charges pending against him.
Judge Gillie: How serious?
Prosecutor: VERY SERIOUS!
110
Judge Gillie then sentenced me to six to 25 years.

Before sentencing, the judge asked me if there was anything I
wanted to say. I thought about it, then decided to speak. Turning to
my right I looked directly into the eyes of the man in whose face I
had pointed a pistol. I offered the most sincere apology that I
could.
Children were also in the courtroom. My message to them was
simple. Dont smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol, or use drugs. Get a
good education, and dont get in trouble with the law.
JB wrote the following letter, dated February 18, 1986, on my
behalf for drug treatment.
Dear Judge Gillie:
I am writing in regard to Mr. Walter D. Smith. Mr.
Smith was sentenced in January, 1986, six to twentyfive years, for robbery of a service station. I have
seventeen years experience as a social worker/planner.
I have been counseling and assisting Mr. Smith with his
growth and development during his imprisonment and
subsequent release. Hopefully, he will qualify for an
early release because of his need for drug therapy and
the fact that this was his first offense. It is my
consummate belief that Mr. Smith has the potential and
skills, especially his salesmanship and weightlifting
abilities, to re-establish himself as a responsible and
productive citizen.
By the way, the White guy who was processed with me July
18, 1985, had his robbery reduced to theft. He had bragged that his
mother knew people and that he would be out of there. He was
right about that. Getting out on his own recognizance bond, he was
placed on probation.
111
T H E G R E Y C AS TLE
Fourteen days after being convicted, I was shipped off to the
penitentiary. The county worked quickly to get convicted felons
out of their budget and into the states. It was a sad day. Eight of us
were on the bus.
It was a rainy, cloudy, dreary day. We pulled up to the big grey
castle, the Ohio State Reformatory, in Mansfield, Ohio, Richland
County, for six weeks of orientation. * Built between 1886 and
1910, the first-time offender correctional facility remained in
operation until 1990.
The officer who transported us was cool. I did not, however,
like the person who greeted us as we exited the bus. The first thing
out of his mouth was Welcome home, inmates.
At that time, all first time offenders went through this facility.
That was a good practice. My reformatory number was 135-714. It
was the beginning of the end of my not so good life. Gut-checking
time.
Two weeks went by. The time had come for me to seek a new
lease on life. Ready to roll, I jumped all the way in.
Not so fast. I received a pass to visit the mailroom for legal
mail. Used to getting bad news, I was in no hurry to read the letter.
Slowly I made my way back to my cell. What was it this time?
On January 31, 1986, an indictment had been filed in the Franklin
County Court of Common Pleas, charging me with seven counts of
rape, three counts of kidnapping, three counts of burglary, and two
counts of robbery. Of course, it was the three White women who
*
The Ohio State Reformatory in Mansfield, Ohio, served as the fictional

Shawshank Prison in the movie Shawshank Redemption, starring Tim
Robbins and Morgan Freeman. The movie is a 1994 American drama
adapted from the Stephen King novella Rita Hayworth and Shawshank
Redemption. The film tells the story of Andy Dufresne, a banker who
spends 19 years in Shawshank Prison for the murder of his wife and her
lover despite his innocence and his claims of it.
112
viewed me in the lineup. Could things get any worse?

This is where the rubber met the road. Nobody but me could
save me. Whats it going to be? What do I do? My options were
few. Sink, swim, adapt, or die.
About 30 days later, I learned that a trial date was set for July
14, 1986. What a coincidence. July 14 is my sons birthday. Now
that was really messed up.
P UB LIC P R E TE N D E R
By no means was I ready for trial. My attorney and I had never
met, much less prepared a defense. It was cool, though, because I
was spared the agony of going to trial on my sons birthday.
Soon after that date, I met with my court-appointed public
pretender, Attorney Donald Schumacher. We spoke over the phone
once. He visited the prison and spoke with me once in person. That
was it!
Blood and saliva were taken from my body for testing. I was
very interested in the test results. I knew I hadnt raped anyone,
and the test should prove it. Mr. Schumacher and I discussed many
aspects of my trial, but I was keenly interested in the test results.
Mr. Schumacher tore one page away from his legal tablet. He
asked if I knew anything about blood typing. I said no. He
explained that I was O negative non-secretor status and that the
semen samples taken from the victims were O negative secretor
status. That meant I should have been eliminated as a suspect. I
later learned that one of the victims, like me, was O negative nonsecretor meaning that the rapist was O negative secretor status.
A C C ID E N T O R D E S IG N
The next trial date was set for December 15, 1986. I will never
forget that date. December 15 is my birthday. Was I surprised? Not
at all. I strongly felt that the scheduling was by design. It was as if
someone said, Well give him something to remember for the rest
113
of his life. Good try! Box em up (a jury of 12), and lets go.
I was guilty of robbery, but I WAS NOT guilty of rape. I took
the stand. Although my attorney advised against it, I had to speak
for myself. I had to stake my claim of innocence. I couldnt wait to
speak my piece. Silence, to me, is an admission of guilt. Speaking
for myself was the best evidence that I could present in court.
The rapist had a full beard and short hair! I presented a
photograph taken nine days before one of the rapes. The picture
showed that I was clean-shaven with jheri curls. I had long hair!
Following a four-day trial, I was found guilty of all charges
involving two of the victims. The jury found me NOT GUILTY of
all charges involving one of the victims. Railroaded, the system did
what it set out to do. I was the systems scapegoat!
Its show time, negro. I was instructed to stand before the court
so that sentencing could be passed on me. The jury foreman read
the verdict. The hanging judge did what he was best known for.
Judge West sentenced me 78 to 190 years in prison.
R AI LR O AD E D
Rubbing his hand across his head and tugging his right ear, he
said, Now carry yo ass to prison and take damn good care of yo
self, ya hear? I looked at my attorney and said, He cant say that
can he? Standing there with a stern look on his face, he remained
speechless.
I cried like a baby when I was sentenced six to 25 years for the
robbery. Not the same for the rapes. The system needed a
scapegoat, and I was used to clean house. Like a soldier, I
courageously took the 78 to 190-year sentence.
I waived at JB. He said, Stay strong and focused, my brother.
JB was the only person in court for me. He also testified on my
behalf.
The officers returned me to the holding cell, and two hours
later, took me back to my cell. Everyone knew about my sentence.
114
It had already been on the news. The brothers in the cell always
showed me lots of love. They gave me a fresh hot cup of mud
(coffee) and offered me a cigarette. It was routine for the fellas to
give a brother a cup of mud and a cigarette after being hit upside
the head in court.
The only thing running through my mind was the judge saying,
Take good care of yo self. He was trying to be funny, but his
message rang loud and clear. I decided to do just as he had
suggested. The only way I was going to survive this rank injustice
was to take care of myself and work as I had never worked before.
My partner offering me a cigarette was cool. No doubt, it was
good looking out. That was all good but NO THANKS!
The stage was set for me to change and get myself together. In
order for me to win against all odds I had to start taking better care
of myself. December 19, 1986, was the last time I smoked a
cigarette.
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11: DNA EVIDENCE

Back and forth, in and out of court. It took a while for me to
get settled into my parent facility. The camp was right for my
mission. My first official workout was June 24, 1986. Exercise was
the first rule of order towards building my new self.
The good thing about prison was that everything was set in
order. Strict discipline was a must! I used that to my advantage.
Physical fitness was my anchor, and still is. The discipline made
me focus on training and my fight for freedom.
Proper diet was next on my list. Most residents complained
about the food. Not me. I saw the free meals as an asset. By law,
they had to feed me three times per day. I jumped all on that.
My goal was to be free in four years. I was determined to prove
my innocence. Having read Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon
Hill, I adapted a few of the positive adages from the book. Plan
your work and work your plan was the first and main one. The
second was to develop a mastermind group. I did both. I had my
workout crew and my get-smarter-education crew. Respectfully,
we went to work.
Straight to the law library I went to exercise my mind. The first
book I touched there, I discovered DNA testing.
After thumbing through a few cases, I landed on State v.
Aponovitch. In this 1986 State Supreme Court case, one of the
justices, Herbert R. Brown, dissented from the other four justices.
He disagreed, in part, on the body fluids evidence. He said that
DNA testing could have eliminated the accused as the source of
semen recovered from the crime scene. Dead on point! That was
all I needed. Never once did I look back.
T H E P LO T T H IC K E N S
Summoned to the administrative office one day, I wondered,
Are they going to let me know that I can go home? Yeah right.
Jokes on me.
Armed with a search warrant, Detective James Foote was there
to take blood and saliva from my body for testing. To prove my
innocence, I was with that. I had no problem giving them the
samples. I just wanted a receipt proof that the samples were
taken from my body.
Detective Foote refused to give me a copy of the search
warrant and receipt. By law, he was supposed to leave with me a
receipt for the property taken from my person. I had no choice but
to refuse his request.
I was being wrestled to the ground, handcuffed, and carted off
to isolated segregation (the hole) when a caring correctional
officer, Lieutenant Wisecup, came to my rescue. Upon entering the
room he yelled, What in the hell is going on?
Scared and crying, I said, They keep saying Im a rapist and
they wont give me a copy of the search warrant and receipt for
blood and saliva taken from my body.
Lt. Wisecup said, Ive been watching this man ever since he
got here. He doesnt give anyone any trouble. Remove those cuffs
from him! All up in Detective Footes grill, Wisecup screamed,
Do you have a search warrant?
Yes, Foote sheepishly responded.
Give it to him, Wisecup barked. Off to the hole I went. Soon
after, Sgt. Herman Dixon delivered the search warrant and receipt
to me.
T H E L AW L IB R AR Y
Soon after that, I got in trouble for being out of place.
Residents had to have a Class A pass to visit the law library. I had
requested a pass but never received one. No problem. I just went to
the library knowing that I was out of place.
Carrying about eight books back to my cell was a no-no. I
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Chapter 11: DNA Evidence
learned real quick that we were not allowed to take books from the
law library. Rather than write me up, the school administrator, Mr.
Jerry Huffman, called me to his office to discuss my infraction.
I told Mr. Huffman that I was innocent of the rape charges. He
suggested that I work in the law library. I wasnt interested.
You say youre innocent, but how do you think youre going
to get out of here if you dont get yourself out? Now that made
sense. Mr. Huffman inspired me to focus on proving my
innocence. I took the job.
I became chief clerk of the law library and had many
responsibilities. I couldnt just sit around and work on my case all
day. My main responsibility was to assist residents with their legal
matters, and I did that. There was a book budget to manage, along
with other duties. No problem. I got right on it. It was one of the
best gigs in the joint.
I convinced the administration to expand the law library. We
went from one desk, one chair, and one typewriter to four
typewriters and enough seating for 10 people. We also added three
more clerks.
Voila! The law library now looked like a law firm. We called it
Smith, Deems, Gordon, and Smith. It was nice.
Many were impressed. Judges, attorneys, politicians, and
others who toured the facility spoke very highly of it. That made us
feel good and proud.
Our law library was not just about show. We put our work in.
Deems and I handled most criminal court filings. Joe Smith (Little
Smitty) focused on domestic stuff, and Gordon made sure
everything in the library was well managed. We all worked on civil
stuff. Best of all, as a clerk, I was able to focus on my case.
On September 6, 1988, well into my legal study, I filed a
motion for DNA testing. I didnt know it at the time, but I was
making history. I, Walter D. Smith, was the first to file a formal
motion seeking DNA testing from prison. Having learned the
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importance of testing body fluids in rape cases, I filed another

motion on November 23, 1988, asking the court to preserve blood,
saliva, sperm, hair, and fiber evidence. Both motions were filed in
the Court of Common Pleas and the prosecuting attorneys office,
Franklin County, Columbus, Ohio.
The court responded to the September 6, 1988, motion by
denying me the right to DNA testing. NEVER did the court
respond to my motion to preserve samples, i.e., blood, saliva,
sperm, hair and fibers. Was I surprised? Of course not!
The only justice in America is bought and paid for. Money
talks and BS (bad stuff) walks UNLESS one is armed with the
power of knowledge. Hope is not lost. Money is power, but when
you dont have money, knowledge is the next best thing. More
knowledge equals more power.
I N S P IR E D
The courts denial of DNA testing only inspired me. It was
time for plan B. I decided to reach out to the media. I needed to get
my story out there. All I needed was one newsperson to review my
innocence claim. To find that one person, I wrote to 500 news
sources around the country.
Chris Yaw of 12 WKRC TV news in Cincinnati took interest in
my case and gave me great advice. He wanted to do a story on my
case, but his station was against it. Though young in age and short
on experience, Chris was sharp. I liked him a lot.
Had I been from Cincinnati, they would have done a story on
me. Chris came to see me in prison. He advised me to hit the local
media in Columbus hard. I did just that. What did I have to lose?
I wrote all news sources in Columbus again. It worked. Jerry
Revish of WBNS-TV Channel 10 News responded. In his March
23, 1989, letter he stated, If you have proof blood and saliva
samples were taken from your body, Id be glad to see it. Man,
was I excited! Talk about a WOW moment, this was it for me.
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No sooner said than done, I sent Jerry proof that samples had
been taken from my body. The proof was in the form of a search
warrant. I knew the warrant must have been important because
Detective Foote refused to let me read it or give me a copy.
The search warrant affidavit (sworn statement), signed and
sworn to by Detective Foote, stated,
The description of the burglar and rapist was similar in
all of the cases that were reported, leading affiant to the
conclusion that all were committed by the same person.
Based upon the evidence aforesaid, collected from the
victims, a comparison of the body fluids of Walter D.
Smith is hereby requested to compare with those of the
victims and the evidence collected from them.
This was the break I had been praying and working for. Chris
Yaw started the ball rolling. Jerry Revish responded. Two young
reporters went all-out to help me in my mission. It felt good
knowing they took interest in me and my case.
N E W S R E S C UE
On April 5, 1989, I received a pass to see the mail department
supervisor. The supervisor told me that Jerry Revish was en route
to interview me! He had me sign a waiver giving my consent to be
interviewed and videotaped.
I figured the drive from Columbus to Lebanon, Ohio, would
take at least two hours. Much to my surprise, Jerry wasnt driving.
He was flying in a helicopter!
Twenty minutes later, they called me for the interview.
I had shaved my head the day before. I wanted to shave my
face but didnt have enough time. All good. I had to do what I had
to do. Anyway, Jerry wore a beard, so we were on the same page
there.
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Talk about excited! I couldnt wait to start explaining to Jerry

what had happened to me. Man, was I fired up. For nearly four
years, I had been preparing for this moment.
Pumped up, I spread everything out on the table in front of me.
Cool, calm, and collected, Jerry took it all in. After about 45
minutes, he said, Ill get you out of here. Thats all I needed to
hear. His words were music to my ears. It was such a relief to meet
Jerry face to face. We stayed in touch through letters.
Later, when I looked at the news clip, my strong, militant
prison look nearly scared me! My beard was full and jet-black.
Weighing in at a solid 235 pounds, my rolled-up sleeves exposed
18-inch biceps (guns). Shirt was buttoned straight up to my neck. I
looked intimidating.
Next steps: get additional support and money for DNA testing.
Back then the test cost $5,000. Over the next two years, I went to
work.
NEED MORE
I received a letter dated May 10, 1991, from Debra Demia, a
producer from Oprahs show. It was good having someone from
Oprahs show respond. Unfortunately that spark soon fizzled. Oh
well. I continued to hope for the best.
Barry Noland with Hard Copy did join us. From day one, he
stayed in touch. As with Jerry, we stayed in touch by letter. Things
are starting to come together. My plan is working.
Then there was the infamous murder trial of O.J. Simpson. He
was tried for the June 12, 1994, murder of his ex-wife Nicole
Brown Simpson and her friend Ronald Goldman. His team of highpowered attorneys included Johnnie Cochran, Robert Kardashian,
Robert Shapiro, and F. Lee Bailey. Johnnie Cochran was the lead
attorney. His skillful, solid defense resulted in O.J. being found not
guilty.
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During the trial, my mother told me that Johnnie Cochran was

a relative of mine. I jokingly said to Mother, You need to get in
touch with cuz and tell him to hook a brother up with some DNA.
We both laughed, finding humor despite my serious and scary
situation.
Another attorney on the dream team was Alan Dershowitz.
He was the appellate advisor for the defense. Prior to O.J.s trial, I
had been in touch with him. Of the 500 attorneys I wrote to, he had
shown an interest in my case. That, too, was short-lived. With him
being in Massachusetts, there was too much distance between us. I
didnt have the funds to pay him to commute and represent me.
P LE AS E B E LIE VE M E
Who do you call when your back is against the wall? Ill tell
you: Mom! She knew about the robberies, but I didnt want the
rape charges on her heart. My youngest brother was in prison in
Missouri. My oldest brother had been stabbed to death in 1979.
How much more could she take?
With six years in, between a rock and a hard spot, I got my
mom on the phone. Please take a seat, Mama. You must believe
what Im about to say. Im in prison for raping three White women
and no one believes me when I say I DID NOT DO IT!
She never questioned my honesty, nor did she complain about
the money. A loving mother stands by her son no matter what.
Where do you want me to send the money? she asked.
All I needed was a lawyer. Again, I wrote 500 attorneys,
focusing on Columbus. Bingo! Not only did I find one, I found one
who said she had access to samples from my case. That was the
icing on the cake. Everything was coming together.
Not so fast.
I explained to my attorney that I had money for DNA testing.
My mother sent $5,000. Thats when stuff got rough and testy. The
roughest part happened after I fired my now third attorney.
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She didnt do what she said she could do. I had signed a
contract to pay her $100 per hour for 50 hours. The $5,000 was
provided for DNA testing. More than 30 days went by with no
news from her. I no longer trusted her. Money was too hard to
come by.
This was a trying time for Jerry Revish and me. Jerry asked me
why I was firing her. Walter, you cant keep firing attorneys, he
said. I explained that she had lied to me. She claimed she had
access to the sheets and panties with the rapists body fluids, but
she never proved it to me.
She did what many attorneys do. Even when theyre in the
wrong, they refuse to give money back to clients. It happens all the
time, especially when their clients are in prison. Many attorneys
are rip-off artists.
It wasnt going down like that with me. With support from
Jerry and even the prison officials, it took a little work, but we got
the $5,000 back that my mother had given me for DNA testing.
G UAR D IAN A N G E L
Officials never responded to my many requests to determine if
samples had been saved. Six times over five years I had been
denied access to samples involved in my case. It wasnt until Jerry
Revish got involved that things started to move. Jerry made it all
happen.
Assistant Public Defender Kenneth R. Spiert wrote a letter
dated April 30, 1991, to Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Jeffrey R.
Allen to determine whether any evidence still existed from my
conviction. On May 23, 1991, Allen acknowledged that samples
were available.
What a blessing! The samples were stored in a dank police
property room. This was the break wed been looking for!
There was a rape kit (slides and swabs) on one victim and
sheets and blankets on another. This was a major victory. There
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were no samples from the third victim. Id been found not guilty
on all charges involving her.
Without Jerry, those samples would not have been discovered.
In fact, they probably would have been destroyed. Chances of my
being cleared and freed, too, would have been destroyed. Thank
God for my Guardian Angel, Jerry Revish.
A W IN N IN G T E AM
Tony Morgan, a friend of mine in prison, suggested I contact
Richard M. Kerger, an attorney with the firm Marshall and
Melhorn in Toledo. Tony also had been wrongfully incarcerated. I
did as he suggested, and Mr. Kerger agreed to take my case. With
your legal acumen I will get you out of there, wrote Mr. Kerger.
Mr. Kerger assured me that once he got Tony out, hed make sure I
got out, too. The year was 1992. Things were starting to look good.
Watching the news one day, I saw that Tony had been freed
from prison. A man of his word, Mr. Kerger had Daniel Marinik,
an attorney with Marshall and Melhorn, contact me. Mr. Marinik
was fresh out of law school. Off and running, he visited me at
Madison Correctional in London, Ohio. I had moved there on
March 20, 1992, after residing six years, 10 days at Lebanon
Correctional.
Impressed with Mr. Kergers representation of Tony, my
confidence was sky high. Nothing can stop me now. Things are
looking good. This is proof positive that planning your work and
working your plan works! Now all we needed to do was connect
the final dots.
Not only did Dan Marinik jump all the way in with Jerry and
me, he also took on prison problems that I was faced with. That
cemented my faith in Dan. He, like Jerry, cared about me.
The light at the end of the tunnel was beginning to pierce the
extreme darkness of my plight. It was comforting to feel a sense of
security while on lockdown. That was so rare.
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Anytime I needed Dan, all I had to do was call. The law firm
accepted my collect calls. That meant a lot to me.
M E D IA , M IK E , M AR IN IK AN D M O M
Over the next four years, my attorneys were denied access to
the rape kits and samples three times. That was no surprise to me.
The good thing was we knew they existed. We held on to that.
My attorneys and I had our first disagreement. They wanted to
file yet another motion in court. I just couldnt see how the fourth
time would be a charm for me.
I wanted to get the media involved. My attorneys disagreed
with this plan because recently theyd had a bad experience with
the media. Against their wishes, I turned to my Guardian Angel,
Jerry Revish. With no faith in the system, I was ready to put all my
eggs into the media basket. It was my last and only hope.
Why should I trust the same system when it had never worked
for me? Nine times over eight years Id been denied access to the
samples. Never had the system ruled in my favor. It would have
been stupid for me to keep hitting my head against the wall.
I had to decide whether to go to court again or put all my faith
and trust in Jerry and the media. After much prayer and thought, I
decided to roll with Jerry. It was a do-or-die gut call.
Going straight to the top, Jerry contacted Michael Miller, the
Franklin County Prosecuting Attorney. Jerry asked him to make
the samples available for DNA testing. Mike Miller advised Jerry
that he would do so.
Gaining access wasnt easy. Mike received pushback from
Assistant Prosecutor Jeffrey Allen. Allen wasnt interested in
making the samples available. He suggested that the samples might
not be any good since they had been in storage for so long.
Mike wasnt buying it. Allen had to turn over the samples.
Now, thanks to Jerry and Mike Miller, I was on the verge of
being free. All the years of fighting, and here we are. There was
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light at the end of the tunnel. We could see it!

Thanks to my loving mother, I had the $5,000 for DNA testing.
It was time for me to call my attorney, Dan Marinik. We had not
been in touch since the law firm filed another motion (the tenth) in
court. Laying it all on the line, this was it.
On the phone, I said, Dan, we finally have access to the
samples for DNA testing.
Great! What do you need me to do? he asked.
You need to contact Franklin County Prosecutor Mike Miller
and make arrangements for DNA testing. You also have to find a
laboratory for the testing, I said. We had nothing to lose.
A couple of days later, Dan called. Hed been in touch with
Barry Scheck with the Innocence Project. They decided to go with
a new Lab Corp agency out of North Carolina. The test would cost
$2,000.
T E S T T IM E
In June 1996, blood was removed from my body for testing.
All samples were sent to the North Carolina laboratory. Twelve
weeks later, the results of the comparisons came back. There were
no matches with any of the evidence! The test results vindicated
me! I now had proof that Id been telling the truth since day one of
my ordeal!
It looked like the madness was just about over. Straight to the
phone I went, calling the one person who never once doubted me,
my mother. Answering the phone in that sweet, loving, ageless
voice of hers, she said, Hello?
There was no match, Mom. We did it.
A moment of silence engulfed the phone. Quietly my mother
began to cry. A strong woman, she always held back tears when
faced with heart-wrenching pain and sorrow.
When she buried her oldest son, she didnt cry, nor did a tear
fall from her eyes when we laid her beloved mother (my
127
grandmother) to rest.
I closed my eyes and felt peace, finally. That was a special
moment with my mama. It seemed to go on forever. There I stood
numb and helpless, just my mama and me. Go ahead and cry, girl.
Relax your mind. Your baby will be coming home soon.
I now had one foot out the door, but the other one was still in
the system. I was glad about the test results, but in reality I was
still locked up. My cats inside were saying, Big Smitty, you outta
here, man.
I cant tell, Id say. So I went back to the typewriter to do
what I did best: FIGHT! I typed letters to Hard Copy, Oprah, and
anyone else I could think of that might help me.
Early news stories reported that I was a free man. Maybe, just
maybe, this is it.
Not so fast. Prosecutor Mike Miller said on the news that I
would not be released right away. We want to have our own tests
done on the samples, he said. Mike Miller advised Dan Marinik
that Franklin County would have two separate tests done on the
samples.
No problem. I had come this far. Im thankful that Mike Miller
was a man who wanted to do the right thing. I had no ill feelings
whatsoever towards him. Actually, I was proud of the fact that I
voted for him when he ran for county prosecutor in 1980. It was
the first time in my life that I voted for a Republican.
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12: EMANCIPATION
During the 12 weeks it took for my test results to come back, I
decided the time was perfect for me to kick my training into high
gear. I wanted to compete soon after my release. Work call!
Mike Francois, a professional bodybuilder, had been training
me through the mail. Soon afterward, his workout partner, Earl
Crosswhite, started working at the facility and was now directly
training me. Right on time.
Another person key to my success was Officer Mel Allemang.
He was better known as the Yard Dog. Quiet and laid back, he
seemed to be content with his job. Being on the yard, he could
avoid most inmate and staff stuff.
Some of the cats didnt like him, but he and I got along well.
He introduced me to the Natural Body Building Federation. He
brought a magazine into the facility (contraband) and declared,
Big Smitty, you can beat these guys.
Ki Green was the big name in the issue he gave me. The
brother was awesome. Though I set my mind to get out of the joint
and go beat him, I knew very well that this young man was truly a
freak of nature beyond my genetic blessings. That inspired me to
train harder and go get him. Every time I worked out, I hyped
myself up to beat this genetic phenomenon. My workout partners
talked stuff about Ki during our workouts. That was all part of the
game.
There were, of course, other champions. Mike McCloud was
near me in Columbus. Other greats were Eddie The Hulk
Hernandez, Miles Stovall, Dave Gooding, Willie Owens, Robert
Green, and Joe Patterson, just to name a few. They were great, but
I was locked all the way in on Ki Green.
A man on a mission, I had tunnel vision. I had a contest or a
few to go and win! A title was out there waiting for me. Whatever
it took, I would get out of here and make it happen.
My crew was tight. Never did I have a shortage of good

workout partners. The main two were Jock (The Gripper) and
David Lowe (The Mangler). These were my dudes.
Everyone called me The Bruiser. We were tight in and out of
the weight room. They had my back, and I had theirs. They pushed
me hard so that Id walk out of the joint a champion.
A F LAW E D S Y S TE M
Proof positive as to how flawed the system is: nine times in
eight years the state refused to pay for the DNA tests. Each time I
requested the test, I asked the state or county to cover the cost
because of my indigent status. I was always denied. But now that
my mother had paid for the test and the results cleared me, the
prosecutors office saw fit to foot the bill.
Then it happened. I received a call at the gym. I was instructed
to go to the office of my unit manager, Mr. Lock. Both of my
caseworkers, Robert Speakman and Mr. Lowe, were there. Mr.
Lock explained that the tests were negative. Twelve weeks later,
the second test excluded me as the rapist of the two victims.
At last, I was cleared of all charges! However, I would not be
able to walk out of prison yet. Still serving time for the robbery, I
would have to see the parole board. I learned of this development
while watching the evening news.
Nothing surprised me anymore, nor did I get upset. Stuff was
rough, and thats just the way it was. I learned to be patient early in
my bit. What kept me focused was my desire to compete again
(and win) and take care of my mother once I was free.
Focus is what kept me sane. Like a laser, I kept my mind on the
positive things that meant a lot to me. Those things were
bodybuilding, my son, and most of all, my mother. Mental focus is
the greatest power in the universe.
Hoping for the best, I always prepared for the worst. Though
cleared of rape, I still had to see the parole board on the robbery
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Chapter 12: Emancipation
charge. My attorney, Dan Marinik, was present. My case was the

first to be heard.
I was on needles and pins, but things went well thanks to the
lead board member, Mr. Ray Capots. The first thing out of his
mouth was, Im sorry this happened to you. I want you out of here
immediately.
Calling central office, Mr. Capots asked me to step out of the
room. The waiting game was on. It seemed like an eternity. After
about 20 minutes, I was asked to return to the room.
Mr. Capots explained that he had done all he could to have me
released right then and there. The date was November 22, 1996.
The protocol after being paroled was to be released in 60 days. The
best he could do for me was 14 days. It took that long to prepare all
the necessary release papers. For that, I was grateful.
Mr. Capots again apologized for my false imprisonment. He
assured me that I would be a free man in two weeks. That for me
was a real WOW moment.
To date, Mr. Capots is the only person in the prison system
who offered an apology. Thank you, Mr. Capots.
O UT O F H E R E
Two weeks flew by. Get a hat and Im ready to roll! Following
a long and sleepless night, I was up early and off to the dining hall
for my last breakfast. I said my final goodbyes to my fellow
residents and staff. Having lived there for five-plus years, it was
hard facing the reality that I was mere moments away from
freedom.
One of the most poignant and heartfelt goodbyes for me was
with an Aryan Brotherhood atheist. Over the last two years, wed
become friends. Together we had focused on quelling racial
tension between young Whites and Blacks. In order to do that, we
vowed to get to know each other better. Different as day and night,
we had disliked each other just because. Armed with respect, we
131
found a way to fix it. We took the time to get to know each other.
Rarely if ever did he smile. I learned that hed never heard I
love you from his mother or father while growing up. Both
parents hated Blacks, so he grew up doing the same. When we
embraced, I said, I love you, man. With a tear falling from his
eye he said, I love you too, big brother. He smiled. Just another
WOW moment.
Packed and ready to walk out of prison a free man, I waited
patiently in Sgt. Youngs office. Lt. Hawkins and Robert (Bob)
Speakman were there. The three of them proved to be more than
prison staff. They had become friends. Oh, I forgot! Staff was not
supposed to fraternize with the enemy. Oh well.
Finally, the call came from Columbus. It was 10:00 am.
Hanging up the phone, a smiling Sgt. Young said, Big Smitty,
youre now a free man. Its over.
A wailing cry escaped my tormented soul. Comforted by a
warm embrace from Sgt. Young, I took my final steps from prison
to freedom.
I was given final release papers and a check for $737. Over the
years, I had saved my state pay and money sent to me by my
mother. The state also gives parolees $75 to start their lives over.
Armed with all that I owned, against all odds, I was emancipated
free and clear of all charges!
On a beautiful Friday morning, December 6, 1996 (my oldest
brothers birthday), I, Walter D. Smith, walked out of prison a free
man. I was 27 when I went in, and 38 when I finally got out. All
programming was interrupted around 10:20 am for a special
WBNS/CBS Channel 10 (Columbus) report. At the helm, doing
the live coverage was Jerry Revish. This is our time. We did it!
This was history in the making. I was the second person in the
State of Ohio and the first from Columbus to be freed from prison
with DNA testing.
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Chapter 12: Emancipation
Barry Nolan with Hard Copy was there to meet me. Joined by
my long-time friend Bart Jefferson, Barry gave me a ride home in
a limousine. En route, he treated me to some new clothes. Now all
decked out, we went to Hyde Park Prime Steakhouse to have my
long desired lobster dinner.
HOME
Eventually we made it to my aunt and uncles home. I hadnt
been there for many long years. As we got closer to their house, I
saw reporters, cameras, and trucks everywhere. It was crazy.
WXYZ/ABC 6 news captured my Aunt Fannie and me as we
emotionally embraced for the first time in 11 years. It was a
dramatic moment for me. The ol man, Uncle Pack, was just being
his cool self. That was his norm.
The house was a zoo. Wires and cords were all over the place.
Microphones were being pushed in my face, and for the most part,
I barely knew who was who.
Everyone was elated except for one person: my parole officer.
She was prepared to arrest me on the spot. Already I was in
violation of parole. I was supposed to report to the parole office
straight from prison. We missed that date.
I was totally unaware of the protocol. Prison staff had failed to
advise me. The moment was tense, but it only lasted for a fleeting
hot second.
Not only was my parole officer cool after we figured
everything out, but she was also sexy. I told her Id never been that
close to a beautiful woman with a gun on her hip in my life. I was
glad to have her as a parole officer. How often do you need me to
report? We all laughed.
At the end of a long day, the party was over. The media packed
up and went. Arrangements were made for me to see my parole
officer first thing Monday morning.
133
I ate my first home-cooked meal with family and friends. My

aunt put a lot of love into cooking that meal.
Following dinner, Bart and I went off for our brother-to-brother
time. We had to catch up on a few things.
The evening was most relaxing. After a little shopping, I
returned to my aunt and uncles home for my first night of sleep in
the free world as a free man. Look out, life, here I come!
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13: TO THE GOOD

My first Saturday morning as a free man, I was up early, as
usual. What a gorgeous day! Im free! I was free to do exactly what
I wanted to do.
I skipped breakfast and took a nice long hot bubble bath. I
soaked real good. From there I eased into some new slacks, a nice
shirt, and my new casual soft shoes. Out the front door I went,
taking my first walk as a free man all alone. My spirit was
unbridled as I went out on my first adventure.
I strolled upon a little strip mall. It was only a few blocks away
from home. I walked by a few businesses before going into a store.
My eyes landed on an extremely beautiful young lady behind the
counter. How about that! Another WOW moment for me.
I spoke to her, and we instantly hit it off. Fearlessly I asked for
her phone number. In a coy and sweet way, she took out a small
piece of paper. Even the way she scribed her name and phone
number on that piece of paper was sexy.
She handed it to me with a warm, cute smile. Her name was
Kennedy. I was elated. I did it! I made my first contact with
another person all alone as a free man. Not bad for a brother fresh
out of the joint.
After a few dates, a movie or two, dinner, and a few workouts,
we found it best for us to be good friends, and good friends for life
is what we are.
The next thing on my TO DO list was to stop by Jack Schmidt
Oldsmobile. I had written a letter of apology for being arrested in a
company car, but I wanted to apologize to the owners in person. As
I entered the dealership, I walked right into Mrs. Schmidt.
I explained how sorry I was for being arrested years earlier in a
company car. She accepted my apology and asked, Can you sell
cars? I sho was not expecting that! Her offer hit me like a
smoking Joe Frazier left hook.
I thought about it, but it didnt take long for me to decide

against the offer. Selling cars is tough! I wanted to find something
more in line with my bodybuilding goals. I explained to her son
Danny that I had to pass. He understood.
There was no need to hurry. No doubt the right gig was out
there waiting for me. I just had to go find it.
In the meantime, on December 11, 1997, Don Day, founder of
Center Stage Theatre, held a reception for me at the King Arts
Center. I was honored for fighting to right the wrong lodged
against me. It was a beautiful thing. Michael B. Coleman, then city
council president, presented me a Certificate of Honor and
Recognition.
I also received a Special Recognition certificate from the
House of Representatives of the 121 st General Assembly of Ohio.
The recognition was sponsored by Representative Charleta B.
Tavares. Mrs. Tavares now serves as a member of the Ohio Senate,
representing the 15th district. Both certificates were wonderful and
appreciated.
S TO M P IN G G R O UN D S
I wanted to go to Kansas City to see my son, family, and
friends for Christmas. Being on parole for one year meant there
were limits to my travels. First, the parole board had to clear me to
travel. Second, I would have to check in with local Kansas City
police to let them know who I was and that I was on parole from
Columbus.
Back home, before we got our party started, I wanted to go to
Gates Bar BQ. After so many years in prison, Gates Bar BQ was a
no brainer. On the way there, my partner Peppy (Howard Innis)
and I stopped at the police station to check in. After doing a
background check on me, they placed me under arrest.
The same lovely female officers who embraced me with hugs
and praise were the same sisters who put me under arrest. They
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Chapter 13: To The Good
slapped the silver bracelets on me and escorted me to a cell.

Whats going on? In the back of my mind, I kinda knew.
This incident went back to 1979. While I was in custody for
traffic violations, a detective mentioned that I was a suspect for
dope dealing. Oh how right he was. I had been busted for selling
pot just before leaving Kansas City.
Talk about skeletons in the closet. Karma had come back to
haunt me. Bond was set at $10,000. No problem. My partner
Peppy took care of it. He paid the bond, and we were so out of
there.
Peppy and I returned to the house and kicked off the longawaited party with family and friends. Just like back in the day,
Terry Brown was the life of the party. Pam Jackson, Kathleen
Martin, and Carol Ford were all there. Now we could party.
Even Little Walter hung out with us. Twenty years old now,
the last time I saw him he was eight years old. It was the first time
my son had ever seen his mother Karen and me two-stepping. Hes
now a handsome grown man.
On Monday I contacted an attorney. After he made a few
phone calls, he let me know that all charges had been dropped.
Now that was a relief. Talk about a Christmas gift! We enjoyed the
rest of the holiday.
From there I was off to Louisiana to see my mom. Thirteen
years had gone by since I last saw her. While I was in prison, life
on the outside had moved on without me. My mom moved to
Louisiana, and dad died on July 21, 1989, four years into my bit.
When I got out of the joint, I vowed to see my mother twice a year
for the rest of our lives.
It was the first time I had ever been to Louisiana for Christmas.
Id never seen Christmas decorations in the South. Christmas lights
on houses in the South. That was all new to me.
Talk about happiness, seeing my cousin Dale was the stuff. His
mom, Dorothy Mae, is my mothers niece. They were more like
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sisters, and she was my other mother. Of course I loved her as if

she were my mother.
As soon as I hit Shreveport, I stopped by Dales auto repair
shop and caught up with him, other cousins, and friends. We had
too much fun!
Finally, Dale and I left for the country. Early afternoon had
turned into late night. Mom was glad to see her baby, and I was
glad to see her.
Dorothy Mae, true to her motherly form, said, You mean to
tell me you got to Shreveport around noon and youre just now
getting here to see your mom? She was right. It was time to grow
up and be more responsible. Mother comes first from now on!
Straight to the kitchen I went. Aint no changing that. There
was nothing in the world like Mamas good ole down-home
cooking. After dinner, we sat down to catch some basketball on
TV. College or NBA, Mama loved her some basketball.
A L ZH E IM E R S
When I asked about her granddaughter (my niece) Carlesha,
the only thing Mom said was, You know that heifer keep talking
about coming to get that gurl. You let her show up down here. A
few minutes later, it was the same thing. You know that heifer
keep talking about coming to get that gurl. You let her show up
down here.
Still, we caught up on a few other things. We both enjoyed
sharing memories from back in the day. She remembered the time I
was chased home from school. She heard me crying down the
street, so she locked the front door and told me to go back up the
street and kick his ass because if I didnt she was going to kick
mine.
Of course, we recalled a few other things. She asked about
Little Walter. Sitting there with her skinny legs crossed, her facial
expression would change to that you-know-I-aint-playing look!
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Just like hitting a replay button shed then say, You know that
heifer keep talking about coming to get that gurl. You know the
rest. It was clear that Mom was developing Alzheimers.
M O M AN D M E
The next morning, true to Southern tradition, Mom was up
early cooking breakfast for me. Mom remembered me telling her
that I didnt eat pork anymore. She cooked beef Polish sausages,
scrambled eggs, toast, and grits. She topped that off with a tall
glass of orange juice.
The grits were loaded with butter. Not one to add sugar or salt
to my food, I enjoyed every bit of putting sugar on my grits. A
meal fit for a king.
We went through photo albums, just kicking it. We really
enjoyed our time together. Mom and I always mixed it up well.
Dorothy Mae cooked dinner the next evening. On the menu for
me was a splendid tossed salad, spaghetti and real meatballs,
greens, and fried catfish. Need I say more?
For dessert, I enjoyed a nice piece of pound cake. It was
delicious. I washed it down with a tall glass of milk.
After a couple of days in the country, it was time for me to
return to Columbus. A much-needed job was waiting for me. Plus,
I had a May 3, 1997, bodybuilding contest to get ready for.
Its been fun, but I gotta run. I promised Mom that I would
return to Louisiana twice a year to see her. Mother said, Im going
to hold you to that.
P IC K A J O B
Fortunately I had four job offers soon after being freed. Im
sure they came from all the media coverage. People reached me
through Jerry Revish, Good Shepherd, and friends. On my first
interview, I ran into a beautiful 98-pounder. Talk about sexy! I was
stunned by the cute smile painted on her face.
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She said, Walter Smith. For the life of me, I couldnt figure
out how she knew me. She played the dont-you-remember-me?
game.
We met a few years before I went to prison. She was a young,
beautiful college student, and I had great respect for her. Our
friendship was solid. Over time, we lost contact.
Glad I showed up for the job interview 30 minutes early. For
the next 15 minutes, I was all into this beautiful young lady in front
of me. Her name was Gaye. Smiles full of glow, we exchanged
phone numbers, and I was off to my appointment.
The interview went great. Glad that it was over, I was more
interested in seeing Gaye on my way out of the building. We
shared a warm embrace and promised to be in touch with each
other soon. All good and excited, I was off to my next interview.
Only blocks away was RMR and Associates. RMR specialized
in collecting past-due medical bills. Since I had collection
experience prior to prison, I felt good about landing the job.
The owner, Rich Foster, didnt want to hire me. No surprise to
me. I was straight out of the joint.
The office manager, Kerry Everhart, was game for giving me a
shot with the company. Full of zeal, I was ready for the challenge.
Kerry convinced Rich to hire me. The pay was okay. In the joint, I
worked for $24.00 per month. Anything would be better than that.
The office was full of beautiful women. That was an added
bonus. For a while, Rich and I were the only two men in the office.
Now that was cool.
Angie, Teeka, and Jernice all worked in collections and were
beautiful to boot. Because of Angies collection tactics, we called
her 8-Ball. Trust me, family, she fit the bill. Sweet as she could be
with us, she didnt play with the clients.
Kelly, the receptionist, was also beautiful. She rounded out our
circle. I felt like a fox in a henhouse. We all got along well. Im
liking this!
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F AN T AS Y AN D R E AL I TY
With my gig in order, I focused on winning a bodybuilding
contest. After hitting a few gyms in the city, I landed at World
Gym (now called Metro Fitness) in Worthington, Ohio. The
minute I walked in the door I was greeted with a warm, beautiful
smile.
Good evening, sir. My name is Wendy. How may I help
you? At that very moment, I saw Earl Crosswhite sitting in the
office. I knew then that World Gym would be my workout home.
Following my visit and free workout, Wendy gave me a tour of
the gym. She was nice and highly professional. You couldnt help
but like Wendy and her sweet personality. Turns out she was the
manager of the gym. Oh, and by the way, Wendy was beautiful.
Without hesitation, I signed up. World Gym was the place for
me. Work call! Time to get busy. January 6, 1997, was my first
workout after prison. Theres a title out there waiting for me.
Unbeknownst to me, my attorney, Gunther Lahm, had been in
touch with Suzanne Irwin, the public relations person for Mr. Jim
Lorimer, owner of World Gym. He was a close friend and business
partner with Arnold Schwarzenegger. They had known each other
for nearly 50 years.
Mr. Lahm and Suzanne arranged for me to meet Mr. Lorimer
and Arnold. Now that was cool. Meeting Arnold was a dream
come true. It just doesnt get any better than that.
I greeted Arnold, saying, My lunsman!
My brother? Arnold asked, surprised.
Yes, my brother, I said. Mr. Lahm and Arnold are from the
same country, and that was how I knew how to greet him in his
native tongue. How cool was that?
This was huge for me. Following the warm exchange, we
embraced. Arnold is very personable and down to earth. That made
the moment even more wonderful. Im so glad I had the chance to
meet him.
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Later Mr. Lorimer dropped VIP tickets for the Arnold Classic
on me. Mr. Lorimer and Arnold sponsor the contest annually in
Columbus, Ohio. Just go and have a good time, he said. What
more could I ask for? What a wonderful gift straight out of prison.
Many greats lined up on stage: Flex Wheeler, Nasser El
Sonbaty, Michael Francois, Ronnie Coleman, Vince Taylor, Paul
Dillett, and Lee Priest. Of course I was cheering for Michael
Francois. He had corresponded with me in prison, but we never
met face-to-face. This was my first time seeing him in person.
Though I wanted to meet him after the contest, it didnt happen.
Well have to meet another time.
P UR S UI T O F V IC TO R Y
All pumped up, it was time for me to get back on my square.
Out of the blue, I received a call from Officer Allemang. He had
made arrangements for the Springfield, Ohio, GNC (General
Nutrition Corporation) to sponsor me. That was a blessing.
Good things kept right on happening for me. I was allowed to
get any and all products I wanted off their shelves. Even so, I got
only what I needed.
The manager also handed me a $2,500 check. This thing just
kept getting sweeter. Together we went over the contract. It was
good for two years. What more could a brother ask for? All I had
to do now was win.
I trained every day after work. The gym was only a few blocks
away from the office. During my first couple of weeks, training got
rough. This thing wasnt easy. If it were, everyone would be doing
it.
One day, when I was training my chest and shoulders, I started
experiencing pain in both forearms halfway into the session. The
pain was more than I could stand. The only thing I could do was sit
there and hold my arms.
All kinds of thoughts ran through my mind. In prison and
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outside, many said that I was too old. Maybe they were right. The
game had changed a lot while I was on lockdown.
Ready to quit, I made my way to the locker room and sat down.
I rocked back and forth, helplessly holding my pain-riddled arms.
All busted up, I had done a good job on myself.
Its over. At age 40, maybe I was too old. The sport requires a
lot of time, and it can take a toll on the body. Never in my life have
I been a quitter. Now may be the time.
At that moment, just when I was ready to throw in the towel, a
young bodybuilder entered the locker room. I didnt know him,
and he didnt know me, but he said, Why are you sitting here?
You need to get your butt back out on the floor and work out.
My first thought was, Who in the hell is this guy? Second was,
Who does he think hes talking to? Fresh out of the joint, I took
offense to this guy checking me.
He didnt let up. He actually laid into me really good. Get up
off your butt, man. You got a championship to win. What are you
working?
Chest and shoulders, I said.
My name is Dan Dick. Come on, man, lets get back out on
the floor and get your workout in.
Together we hit the floor. With Dan spotting me, I pushed
myself through the excruciating pain. Feeling better, I thanked Dan
for getting me through the workout.
Dan said that hed be in the gym the next day at the same time.
Cool! This brother got me through the most painful workout Id
ever had. We trained together six days a week for the next 12
weeks.
G R E AT T R A IN E R S
With so much on the line and so much to prove, I did two-adays for the final six weeks. Up at 4:00 am, in the gym by 6:00,
done by 7:45, off to work by 8:10.
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Id have my first meal at my desk at 8:30 am and would eat a

meal every two hours until 4:30 pm. That made for five of my six
meals per day. Then back to the gym by 5:00 pm until 6:30.
Dan was my main workout partner. The others were Gary Tate
and Barry Morris at the Eldon Ward YMCA. The Y was clear
across town. It also had a sauna. The sauna helped me remove
surface water from my skin. Constantly pushing water out of my
body improved my conditioning.
Returning to the office, I would work until 9:00 pm. Before
posing practice, I would have my last meal. Gaye, who by then had
become my girlfriend, was my coach. Not only was Gaye a great
cheerleader, but she was also a good critic. She was as hard on me
as JM Blakely and Mike Davies. I wouldnt have succeeded
without her. Gaye was a great inspiration, and she was my love
mate.
Totally focused, I had come too far to turn around. Never
missing a meal or a workout, I was on the path of victory. During
my last four weeks, I did cardiovascular training in the morning on
an empty stomach. From there, I practiced posing and training my
stomach. Once done, off to work.
Dialing in, I felt good. All my coaches were impressed. JM
never let up, though. It was cool. I fully understood. Rarely ever
smiling, he stayed in my stuff. Deep down I knew that he wanted
me to win. Big, thick, ripped, cut, and vascular, I was strapped!
Everything was coming together.
Twice I had to visit my doctor, Dennis Rappel, MD the first
time for bronchitis, the second time for a urinary problem.
Impressed with his credentials, I was glad I found him. As a
natural bodybuilder, he fit right in.
With stuff being a little rough, Doc always cheered me on. All
fixed up and inspired, I was ready to go and win a title.
At two weeks out from my first contest, even I was amazed at
the shape I was in. Running on all 12 cylinders, I was confident
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that NO ONE would beat me. I was invincible. Since the age of 12,
I had dreamed of and looked forward to this moment.
It was time to hit the Big Apple, New York, for the first time in
my life. For a variety of reasons, this was not a trip to be made
alone. My ace Bart Jefferson had me covered.
He was everything I needed on contest day: coach, advisor,
trainer, photographer, and hype man. He did it all. Together we
were a great team, and we had a title to win.
S H O W T IM E
The night before the contest, I was so restless! I fell in and out
of sleep. I was up and down, in and out of bed all night.
The next day I woke up hyped and ready to win. This was it!
Eating my last two meals before prejudging, I felt strong. I was
ready. Walt, you got this, man. Look at you, baby boy, Bart
laughed. Lets do this!
Last-minute adjustments were made. My body was tight, right,
and out of sight. Everything I needed was in my bag. My partner
and I were prepared to go and do battle. Off to prejudging, it was
time to make good on all my hard work.
Check-in was smooth, and prejudging started right on time.
Everyone looked great. This thing was not going to be a cakewalk.
My work was cut out for me. Everyone there, women and men,
came to do battle for the number one spot.
The middleweight men were called to the stage. These guys
were tight. Heavyweights were told to get ready. Coasting through
my pump-up routine, it was now time to oil up.
Down to the top five middleweight men, the crowd was going
crazy. The energy fueled my fire backstage. No doubt, this was a
tight class. Finally, the dust cleared. Dripping with sweat and
breathing hard, the middleweights exited the stage.
Show time! The heavyweights lined up. As we hit the stage,
the crowd showed their love. Every step we took, sounds of
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appreciation filled the air. At age 40, I had made it. This was it.
This was what I had been focused on for 12 years.
There was a lot of anticipation for the big boys. Talk about
being pumped up! The crowd was ready for a show, and I vowed
to give them what they wanted. Time to rock and roll!
The field consisted of 15 contestants. Eight of the 15 could
have been #1. I made the first callout. Smack dab in the middle, I
was moved from that position only once. Talk about excited, I had
to pinch myself to make sure this thing was real.
In bodybuilding, 99% of the time youre the favorite when you
land in the middle of five contestants. Your energy level quickly
goes through the roof. (Tear the roof off this sucker!)
You fly way past cloud nine. That was the best high Id ever
had. The rush was fantastic. The stage was electric, and the
building was on fire.
The judges put us to work. Comparisons were made, and the
final five were instructed to exit the stage. For now the battle was
over. The lights were turned down, and everyone left the building.
Off I went to eat, feeling good about the contest prejudge. Still I
was mindful that there was more judging to come in the evening
show.
Bart was excited and felt I was the man to beat. A few fans felt
the same way, but I knew all too well the importance of remaining
focused. I had to keep my eyes on the prize.
Back to the evening show, the top eight did their 90-second
routine. One-third of our points hinged on our evening
presentation. The final five were selected. I was glad to be in that
number.
The prize of this contest was the qualification to turn pro. Sure,
the trophies were nice, but the title of professional bodybuilder was
more thrilling. The winner was going to have to work for it. It was
pose-down time.
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The judges put us to work again. The audience loved it. When
youre going through your routine, you know whether the crowd is
feeling you or not. They seemed to be into me.
It was time to pick a winner. The top three places were
selected. Then there were only two men standing, and I was one of
them. We squeezed out poses while the MC milked that thing all
the way out! The hype was crazy, and the crowd was fired up.
Finally the smoke cleared, and the judges made their decision.
It was time to announce the winner.
It had been a long time since I stood center stage. The moment
was tense. The heavyweight runner-up was Julius Ayinla. Proudly,
I was the last man standing.
It wasnt over yet. The overall winner still had to be decided.
The match-up was between Robert Johnson, winner of the
middleweight class, and me. This brother was strapped. My work
was cut out for me once more. It was time to put up or shut up.
The head judge pushed us through a series of poses. Some
pose-down music blasted, and we both went to work. Neither of us
had time to be tired. This was it.
Like a boxer in the ring, I went straight after RJ. We rumbled
for the title like alley cats. Neither of us showed signs of being
tired. Smelling victory, I posed with a winning smile. I locked the
judges all the way in.
T H E W IN N E R
The time had come. The MC named me, Walter Smith, as the
overall winner of the 1997 United States Championship. On May
3, 1997, five months after leaving the joint, my dream had come
true. I never felt better in my life. I made it!
Two weeks later, I was competing on another stage, this time at
Fawcett Center, Ohio State University. Arnold Schwarzenegger
and Sergio Olivia had graced the same stage 27 years earlier. They
became my childhood heroes when I first saw them compete on
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Wide World of Sports at age 12. I never lost sight of their

greatness while in prison. They inspired me. My home turf,
Columbus, Ohio, was rich with history, and I was now part of it. I
was on a roll.
There were 12 men in my class. This time it was a light
heavyweight showdown. Again, the competition was tough. By no
means was this going to be a lay-down deal.
Because I had just qualified to compete professionally, I almost
didnt do this one. Mike Francois said, Walter, you just came off
a victory. Do the show. Having gone four days without training
and pigging out, I jumped right back on my program determined to
win.
Hands down, I walked away as the class winner.
Next was the battle for the overall title. My work was cut out
for me. The other three class winners were hungry and determined.
In great shape, they wanted to win it all, just like me. But, I was
just a little bit hungrier. Twelve years of pain and suffering had
been invested in my training. I was in a zone. By the end of the
night, that was obvious.
For the second time in two weeks, I was the last man standing.
When I arrived for the morning check-in, James Durrow, now a
friend, said that many felt I was the man to beat. That was good
stuff.
Just before the top five went out to do our routines, someone
yelled into the pump-up area, Theres a cute little dish out here
looking for Walter Smith. It was my baby Gaye. She was looking
all cute!
Hair done and wearing a well-fitted dress on her sexy 98-pound
body, she pumped me up even more. We had finally made it. My
baby and I did it. I really perked up when it was time for me to do
my routine.
On the evening of May 17, 1997, I heard the following words:
Walter Smith is the overall winner of the first Mike Francois
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Championship. It was almost unbelievable. I just won another

overall title! This was my second in two weeks.
Dreams do come true! This is no fantasy. This is no dream.
This thing is real. On top of my game, again, I made it.
Through it all, I learned that winning isnt everything, but the
pursuit of victory is.
N E VE R A LO N E
Many people helped make my victory possible. My partner
Bart got me to this contest and did everything in a first-class way
to help me win. My Aunt Fannie played an important role as well.
She and Gaye prepared most of my meals while I worked and
trained.
It was a beautiful thing standing on the stage after the contest,
seeing all the unknown faces who had cheered me on. The moment
was full of elation. I loved every minute of it.
The high point came by way of someone I never even had a
chance to meet. At around 1:00 am, I finally made it backstage to
get cleaned up and visit with friends and family. Just as I was
about to leave, someone handed me a roll of film. He said, A fan
took pictures of you during the contest and wanted you to have this
roll of film.
Tossing the roll in my gym bag, I thought nothing else of it.
Several months went by before I ran across the roll of film again.
Eventually I got the film developed. Man, was I surprised. The
jewel the best picture of my career was in that role.
I hope to meet the person who took the pictures one day. What
a wonderful gift. Its the best bodybuilding picture ever taken of
me. It caught me at my absolute best.
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None of this would have been possible had Mr. Lorimer not
given me an honorary membership to work out at World Gym. The
same holds true with Jerry Saunders, President of the Eldon Ward
YMCA. He too gave me an honorary membership to work out at
the Y.
Both memberships lasted two years. I wouldnt have made it
without the two of them and many others in and out of the gym.
They all supported my effort, and for that I will always be grateful.
Hitting the stage was always good. I competed in the 1999
NPC Masters competition in Pittsburgh, and walked away with the
light heavyweight title. Three titles in two years! I was riding high.
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14: GREAT OPPORTUNITIES

While at RMR, I received a call from Mr. Jerry Huffman, the
warden at the Dayton Correctional Facility. Mr. Huffman worked
in the education department when I was on lockdown at Lebanon
Correctional. One of several staff persons who believed in my
innocence, he had encouraged me to take the job in the law library.
I can still recall his life changing words when I told him I didnt
want the job.
You keep saying youre innocent. If you dont get yourself
out, how do you think youre going to get out of here? The rest is
history. Thanks to Mr. Huffman, I studied law and got myself out
of prison. For that, I will always be indebted to him.
How did he know where I worked? He must have contacted the
parole authority. One thing is for sure, Im glad he found me. He
was still looking out for me even on the line (the streets).
Calling to check on how I was doing, he asked if I would visit
his facility and speak to the resident population and staff. How
could I say no to Mr. Huffman? Of course I will. Just tell me
when! I said. We scheduled a date in February for Black History
Month.
When I arrived, the gym was packed. I shared my Against All
Odds presentation with the audience, and they loved it.
Jerry invited me to his office. The last time we mixed it up was
six years ago on March 20, 1992, when I was preparing to leave
Lebanon to go to Madison Correctional. Now, in February 1998, I
was a free man.
Forty-five minutes slipped by, and it was time for me to head
back to Columbus. We shook hands, then Jerry gave me two
envelopes. Two checks for a total of $1,000! That was a surprise
and a true blessing.
You might want to consider making a living telling your

story, he said. I assured him that I would do just that. His words
were all the inspiration I needed. It shall be done!
For the rest of the year I competed and told my story. February
1998, I launched 25th Dynasty Enterprise, my speaking business. I
got the name from studying antiquity in prison.
P R IS O N I N S P IR A TIO N
Off to a great start, my first year in business was a success. I
did 52 gigs that year. February was best for speaking because of
African Black History month. I spoke 32 times in 28 days one
year. I knew I was on to something.
Against All Odds is my breadwinner presentation for adults,
especially prison residents and staff. The crux of my message is
how to overcome adversity and win against all odds. When you see
something you want, go for it and do it the right way.
Dont quit! A winner never quits, and a quitter never wins. I
never gave up on my dream. Dont give up on yours!
Your health is your most valuable asset. The better you take
care of yourself, the better yourself will take care of you. Health is
important no matter where you are in life.
Attitude will determine your altitude in life. It determines
whether you win or lose in whatever you do. Great health plus a
great attitude equals success.
My best prison state was Pennsylvania. Thanks to the program
director, Mr. Cliff Parish, I landed a contract for all but two of their
facilities my first year of speaking. After passing a lean
background check, I was able to enter their prisons. Pennsylvania
was the most program-driven state I worked in. My program was
well received.
More than any other state, I ended up on a nice rotation of
prisons. A few of them had me every year and others every two or
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Chapter 14: Great Opportunities
three years. That was job security. I worked in prisons coast to

coast.
The highest security prison I worked in was Pelican Bay State
Prison in Crescent City, California. The opportunity was made
possible by Warden Robert Ayers, no doubt one of the best
wardens I ever worked for. What a unique experience. A major riot
took place the week I was there. My job was to help quell the
tension between Blacks and Hispanics. The challenge was great
and of high order. Though rough, ultimately, both groups did show
me love. Mr. Ayers approach was classic and should be used as a
model in other prisons. Glad to have met and worked with him.
S H I F T IN G G E AR S
After nearly two years with RMR, it was time to move on. Rich
and I had developed a great business and friendship. He actually
helped me with my speaking business. Things and times change.
I decided to try my hand at selling cars again. A friend from the
gym, Don Wells, introduced me to Mark Meadows, the manager of
Caldwell Dodge. We hit it off instantly. Following a brief
conversation, I was sold on the dealership, and Mark was sold on
me.
It wasnt long before I was in the top three of the sales staff. I
busted my butt! The customer always came first. Never once did I
have an unhappy patron. That made all parties the dealership, the
customer, and me happy.
W R O N G F UL I N C AR C E R A TIO N C O M P E N S AT IO N
My compensation case for wrongful incarceration was slowly
being decided. After being denied compensation for 11 years, I
eventually prevailed on appeal. Initially the court awarded my
attorneys, Marshall and Melhorn, Dan Marinik, $27,000 for getting
me out of prison. I was denied compensation. More proof of a
biased so-called justice system.
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The appeals court reversed the civil courts decision. The court
ruled that I would have done five years on the robbery. Five years
subtracted from the 11 left me with six years wrongful
imprisonment compensation. Of course, I didnt like that. I knew I
should have been compensated for 11 years. The victory was
bittersweet.
The settlement amount was $250,000. After paying $67,000 in
taxes, I was left with a meager $183,000. In my heart, I wanted to
tell them to keep it. Obviously, that thought was fleeting.
Represented by Luper, Neidenthal and Logan, my then attorney
and now friend, Gunther Lahm, fought tooth and nail for the
settlement.
He and I went round and round in the preparation of our case. I
wanted to argue for the full 11 years. Mr. Lahm thought it best that
we focus on the six years as decided by the appeals court. That in
itself was an injustice. Flat out tired, I rolled with it.
L E G A L S H IE LD /P R E P AID L E G AL
Beat down, it was time for me to get a break. It came in the
form of Amilda Coffman. Having caught my story on the news,
she stopped by the dealership to meet me. She introduced me to
Pre Paid Legal (PPL) Services, which is now called Legal Shield.
Amilda suggested that I meet Wilburn Smith, the vice president
of the company. He was in town for a regional rally. Amilda
thought Id be a good speaker for PPL. We discussed the
possibility over dinner with eight other PPL associates. The
invitation was right on time.
Many of them had a problem with my prison background. Mr.
Smith could have cared less. He kicked all the negatives to the
curb. We were off to a great start.
Because of my having been to prison for something I did not
do, I saw value in the service. PPL was a no-brainer for me. I
signed up right on the spot.
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Two weeks later, there was a PPL convention in Philadelphia.

Mr. Smith thought it would be cool for me to speak there. Though
sold on my ability to do a good job, he had to clear it with the
president of the company, Mr. Harland Stonecipher. We spoke
over speakerphone, and it was a done deal. I was off to the City of
Brotherly Love.
Two weeks flew by. Its show time, and Im ready. Standing
before 8,000 people was amazing. The crowd was great. Man, was
I pumped up!
After my talk, many PPL directors and managers asked me to
speak at their area meetings. This was life-changing stuff.
Considering the numerous requests for my services, corporate
office put a game plan together.
Just like that, I was booked to speak 37 times. My life was
changed forever. For the next 18 months, I was straight. Proudly, I
had become a spokesperson for PPL. My largest audience was
10,000 in Ada, Oklahoma, at their March 2, 2002, annual national
convention.
Best of all, the organizations service is phenomenal. To this
day, I proudly possess a Legal Shield card. It gives me access to an
attorney 24/7. I never leave home without it. The first time I used
it, my cousin Bump and I were on our way back to Columbus from
visiting Mom and relatives in Louisiana. We were pulled over in
Memphis. I asked the officer why we had been pulled over. He
said I had failed to use a turn signal when changing lanes. May I
have your license, registration, and proof of insurance? The
officer then shined his light on Bumps baby son Sheldon in the
back seat. Just as cool as he had approached us, he returned to his
car.
Sitting there with the glaring spotlight nearly blinding me in
my side view mirror, we waited. Its police practice to shine the
light right into the drivers door mirror. Cool, calm, and collected,
we sat there. No sweat. We were clean as a whistle.
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Twenty minutes went by. Whenever a stop takes this long,

somethings about to go down, I told Bump. Soon other cars were
pulling up. Blinded by the shining lights, I was startled when this
huge, full-blooded German Shepherd jumped up on the drivers
door, looking straight at me. It was a drug-sniffing police dog.
They walked the dog around the car. Drawing a blank, the
officer returned to the car. As he handed me my license, I handed
him my Legal Shield card. Shocked, the officer examined the card.
I said, I want to call my attorney.
Now all of a sudden I was Mr. Smith. Well, Mr. Smith, we
just have a lot of drug traffic on this route. Im sure you
understand. Handing him my brochure, again I said, I want to
speak with my attorney.
With a bodybuilding photo on it, the brochure explained my
wrongful imprisonment. The officer read it from front to back. He
said he had seen my story on the news. We kicked it for a minute
about my case and bodybuilding. I even showed him my photos in
a muscle magazine. Everything was cool now. The officer
encouraged us to drive safely for the rest of our trip.
No doubt, the stop was about racial profiling. But how had they
selected us? A marked cop car never passed us. We had stopped,
filled up, made a few small purchases, and used the rest room
about 15 miles earlier. Still somewhere along the way wed been
tagged.
At first I wanted to pursue the matter. I even spoke to Mr.
Lahm about it. During that time, profiling Black males was all over
the media. Tired from all the legal fighting over the years, though,
I dismissed the thought.
P R O F E S S IO N A L S P E AK E R
PPL changed my life. I was able to walk away from the
dealership, and now speaking is my full-time job. Hitting the
bricks coast to coast is good stuff, and I love it.
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Pastor Lorenzo B. Shepherd made it possible for me to work

with youth and speak during three Seventh Day Adventist Church
conventions. The first was in Knoxville, Tennessee, in 2004. I did
two workshops, one of which focused on youth choices. We
covered everything: sex, drugs, alcohol, and more. The other was
on adult health.
The next year we were off to Memphis, Tennessee, for the next
Seventh Day Adventist convention. Having so much fun, I had to
remind myself that I was there as a facilitator. The highlight for
many of us was a John P. Kee gospel concert. He and his band
were awesome.
Over the course of the nights performance, Pastor Kee gave
one woman $500. That was true ministry. He was also quite a
comedian. It was one of the best concerts Id ever been to.
In 2006, I made it to the big stage at the Seventh Day
Adventists National Convention in Atlanta. With 50,000 in
attendance, this was my chance to shine. The opportunity was the
zenith of my public speaking mission. The crowd seemed to love
me, and I loved them.
C H O IC E S
Choices is the name of my youth presentation. The choices
you make between 12 and 19 will dictate and determine who and
what you will become for the rest of your life. If you make good
choices, youll have good consequences. If you make bad choices,
youll have bad consequences.
From Connecticut to California and Alaska to Florida, I have
spoken to more than 2,000 audiences from 1998 to date. My best
states for schools were Arkansas, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Texas,
and Ohio. My best for prisons were Pennsylvania, Illinois, West
Virginia, Virginia, Michigan, Ohio, Florida, and New York.
Things all started to change in 2006.
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Arkansas was my best state. For that, I have a beautiful group

of teachers, parents, and students to thank. None of it would have
been possible without David L. Land, Superintendent of the
Omaha School District. Recognized nationally as an authority on
school finances, David Lands greatest reward was his children.
Having no children of his own, he cared for his students as if they
were his biologically. He loved them, and they loved him.
Everything he could do for them he did to the fullest. He
mastered grant writing and won grants for the school district.
Because of Davids aggressive building projects, his students were
blessed with the best.
Indeed, he was a bright light in many peoples lives, including
mine. David brought me to his district three years in a row. I was
honored to have met him and glad to call him a dear friend. We
even went fishing during my last visit to the schools on an Ozarks
lake with his best friend. Just one of the fringe benefits of
inspirational speaking.
David Land passed on January 6, 2009. He was a true friend
we all miss dearly.
Charlotte Patterson, a nurse at Rivercrest High School in
Wilson, Arkansas, and Principal Mitzi Smith made it possible for
me to speak at Rivercrest and area schools for Red Ribbon Week
during October. Early in my talk, Id do an exercise to get the
students in a rhythm of joyfully raising their hands. I would ask,
How many of you are experimenting with alcohol? Nearly 70%
admitted to having had at least one drink of liquor. Many got their
first drink at home.
Asked the same about cigarettes, one-third of the students
admitted to having tried smoking cigarettes. Some of them
confessed to smoking regularly. Middle school students are so
honest.
I can proudly say that in the 500 middle schools I spoke in
across the nation, ALL students vowed to stop smoking! From the
158
look on their faces, I could tell they were sincere. To date, this is
my proudest venture with youth.
High school students were a different story. Of the 500-plus
high schools across America I visited, on average four students per
school admitted (1) that they were not willing to quit smoking and
(2) that they were addicted to cigarettes. I would put those same
students in charge of a stop smoking program. They would also
create a name for the program.
Occasionally, 100% of students in a high school would promise
to quit smoking. That was always good, but cigarettes were just the
tip of the iceberg. The deep discussions were about drugs, alcohol,
and sex.
N E AR LY K N O C K E D O UT
Up to this point, everything had been great. But what goes up
must come down. You learn to roll with the punches.
My best prison system threw a wrench in the game. After
booking $8,000 worth of work for Black History Month, I was
denied access into their facilities because of the past false
accusations of rape. Yes, I was still being punished for crimes I did
not commit.
For 10 straight years, I had gone through the same clearance
process to enter Pennsylvania prisons. For some reason, this time
the wrongful rape convictions came up in my background check.
No problem. I sent the home office the documents that proved I
was cleared of all charges.
The Pennsylvania Department of Corrections officials denied
approval for me to enter their facilities. Not only was it a blow to
my work that month, but it crippled my business overall. No matter
how hard I tried not to let the negative bring me down, I was
bummed. It was horrible.
I appealed their decision. It was denied. The decision stated
that I had lied initially to Cliff Parrish, the person in charge of
159
programming for the state in 1998, which is when I landed the

annual contract to speak in Pennsylvania prisons. That was so
untrue. I recommended they contact Mr. Parrish. They refused.
I had just purchased a 4x4 SUV. I needed it in the Northeast
during February. To compound matters, I had recently moved my
mother and her granddaughter (my niece) to live with me. My
mother had full blown dementia by now. The work in
Pennsylvania prisons accounted for 25 to 33% of my annual
income. My income took a major hit. It was time to switch gears.
B AC K O N S T AG E
Competing off and on over the years, my workout crew rocked
steady with me through it all. Matt Kelbick, my main training
partner, is like a brother to me. Were like family. He brings his
love of boxing and competitiveness to our circle.
The Italian stallion for real is Pete Synacropie. Matt and I had
to have him. Pound for pound, hes the strongest man on our crew.
With a deep passion for power lifting and competing at 198
pounds, hes a beast.
Then of course theres Sam. This brother threw me for a loop
when he asked to train with us. Our stuff was no mystery. We
throw a lot of weight around.
Sam, why do you want to train with us? I asked.
Sam said, I just want a bedroom body. I was like,
DAMNNN! The rest is history. After pushing Sams request by
Matt and Pete, we welcomed him on board. Our new crew is now
four deep, solid and strong. Pete trains for power lifting, and Matt
works his bench press. I, of course, train for bodybuilding
competitions. We all embrace good health and fitness and, like
Sam, our new lifelong training ambition is to rock a bedroom
body!
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S TR IN G O F S P LE N D O R
All good things come to an end. My GNC contract was up. It
had been a good run. Thanks to GNC, I won three titles. During
my last visit, I autographed a photograph and magazine for the
manager. I thanked him for the $2,500 check.
Theres no way I would have won three titles without the
supplements and the $2,500. The manager said, You dont owe us
any thanks for the $2,500. We didnt give you that money. The
money came from Officer Allemang. He took up a collection from
the officers and staff at the Madison Correctional Facility.
All I could say was WOW! I had no idea. Now that blew me
away. What a grand gesture.
Struggling through two more contests, I retired in 2001 for the
second time. Balance in life is so important. It was time to get
caught up on other stuff.
That was short-lived.
Competing was in my DNA! I started training again to compete
in 2003. The plan was to do four shows with the hope of winning
one.
In Austin, Texas, I won the 2003 Pro-American title. I took
second place in the Mr. Universe heavyweight class in New York.
With a hometown advantage in Overland Park, Kansas, I walked
away with the 2003 overall Pro-International Championship.
Not a bad year at all! Winning pro titles in May and September
made 2003 a milestone year for my career. My plan was to do four
for one. I ended the season with not one but two titles.
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15: MAKING THINGS HAPPEN

Columbus, Ohio, was selected to host the 2005 Annual
National Conference of Black Mayors. The event was held April
27 through May 1, at the convention center. I was most interested
in the re-entry workshop.
I contacted Mayor Michael Coleman and asked if he could
arrange for me to speak in the re-entry workshop. He explained
that he was only hosting the event and that he had nothing to do
with scheduling speakers and workshops. He advised me to contact
the event facilitators.
The next morning after my workout, still in sweats, I went to
the convention center in search of the event coordinator. I found
her and asked if it would be possible for me to speak during the reentry workshop. In a terse and stern voice, she said all speakers
had been booked. No big deal. It was worth a shot.
While making my way to the nearest exit, a lovely, warmspirited lady stopped me. She had caught a whiff of my plea to her
colleague. I think I saw you on the news when you got out of
prison. That lit my fire. Handing her a brochure, I briefly
explained my prison past. She gave me a big hug. I felt so much
better. I promised to return the next day with an autographed photo
and magazine for her. Her million-dollar smile said it all. I was on
cloud nine. The day had not been so bad after all.
The next day I had a speaking engagement at Columbus
Africentric School. Im a regular there, and the gig was a hit. We
all, staff and students, had a good time. Charged all the way up, I
was off to the Convention Center. This time I was dressed to a tee.
Looking for the nice lady I met yesterday, I walked by a group
of people standing around. Curious, I asked what was going on.
They said their speaker had not shown up. Cool, his loss, my gain.
Thinking fast I said, I apologize for being late. Lets go on in
here and get this party started. Making my way to the center of
the room, I rocked the house. Twenty minutes later, the audience
gave me a standing ovation. I knew I had knocked this one out of
the park. After we all calmed down, the facilitator asked if I would
be interested in speaking in the re-entry workshop the next day. I
responded with an exuberant YES! It was a done deal.
R E -E N TR Y W O R K S H O P
Show time! Suited and booted, I entered the room ready to roll.
I worked the room, but never let on who I was. Many assumed I
was one of the mayors. That was cool.
The venue was packed, with standing room only. Philadelphia
Mayor John F. Street hosted the session. He kicked things off, and
the discussion got under way. The mayors on the panel made some
good points.
My chance to speak came at the end of the workshop, but at the
last minute, I decided to scratch the speech I had prepared. Many
great speakers flow from the heart. I knew my stuff. I knew I could
do it. I assessed and processed all that had been said by the
mayors. Then thinking on my feet, guns loaded, I shot straight
from the hip. I said:
Here we all are, looking good and sounding good,
talking about former felons and re-entry programs. We
spend too much time talking about re-entry when we
should be focused on pre-entry. At minimum, we need
to start working with men in the county jail. We need to
implement programs for them whether theyll be
returning to the community or going to prison.
How often do any of you visit your city jail? Have
any of you ever visited a prison? How about sleeping in
one? Please show by raising your hand if you, as the
mayor of your city, brought a former felon with you
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Chapter 15: Making Things Happen
today. As I expected, not one of you brought a former

felon to contribute to this discussion.
How can we begin to be serious about such without
having former felons as part of the discussion? Are you
all really serious, or is this another formal fleeting
political fantasy replete with rhetoric? Will anything
here today become a reality for tomorrow and beyond?
Mayor Coleman, please stand. Know that you are
represented in this discussion. There are two of us here,
Brother Rayshawn Wilson and I. We both are former
felons. Were here to represent you and Columbus,
Ohio. Were now open for questions or comments.
The room grew silent. The meeting abruptly ended with no
questions or comments. Local WBNS TV 10 news and Jacque
Reid with BET news moved in to interview Mayor Coleman and
me. Of the 30-plus mayors present, he was the only one who had
former felons representing him.
This event had been perfect for me. I was able to reach the
people who could make a difference. Who better to address the
plight of Black men in America than all these Black mayors?
I made sure everyone in the room received my brochure, which
had my accomplishments in and out of prison and my contact
information. I followed up with every mayor who provided me
with his or her contact information.
Not one meeting came from my many attempts to connect with
the mayors. Such a sad reality. Black faces in high places came out
of the civil rights movement, but its not enough. Black faces in
high places must have the courage to make positive change.
V AL UE S AN D P R IN C IP LE S
Seven months later, on January 16, 2006, Mayor Michael B.
Coleman and City Councilman Kevin L. Boyce called male leaders
165
of the community together to address the problem of male

homicide. In 2005, there had been 104 homicides, 73% of which
were Blacks killing Blacks fratricide! The problem was serious.
We had a great turnout. Many government officials, city
leaders, pastors, activists, and others attended. All the Whos Who
of Columbus were in the house!
The date was symbolic: it was Dr. Martin Luther Kings
birthday. The meeting was held at the historic Lincoln Theatre,
which was in its last phase of renovation. The Theatre is a wellknown African American gathering place in Columbus.
I was given seven minutes to speak and showcase my stuff. I
felt honored to be able to present and represent in my home city.
First, I stressed the need for jobs. Unemployment is the number
one contributing factor to homicide. Black men need jobs. Former
felons need jobs. Hungry men must eat, and if they have to they
will hit the streets. They will kill for what little exists in the streets.
Now thats real.
Since mostly single mothers raise Black males, theres a great
need for alternative real-talk male teaching in schools. Theres a
need for physical fitness. Reformed felons are best for the job.
Our youth must know the consequences of making good and
bad choices. We must teach them a value system. They must learn
the essence of respect. Self-respect begets respect for others. This
is what Ive taught in my 35-year mission to save our children.
The best time to schedule alternative teaching programs is
during lunch and free time. These programs should replace
suspensions. Its so important to keep students in school.
Suspending them simply hands them over to the streets, gangs, and
juvenile detention. My diversion program is called: Youth
S.T.A.R.T. Excellence (Youth Striving To Act Responsibly
Towards Excellence). The program is designed to teach four
things: self-awareness, self-respect, social etiquette, and unity.
166
I told the attendees that it is our responsibility to teach our

children values and principles. Positive repetition is good for child
development. Prayer and the Pledge of Allegiance are good
examples. Unfortunately prayer was taken out of the schools.
Saying the Pledge of Allegiance used to be automatic. We used
to say it first thing in the morning. The Pledge seems to going the
way of prayer out. Whats left to inspire unity among our youth?
Hardly anything. We need more unity in our communities.
I stressed the need for physical fitness in schools. Males have
more energy than females, and girls can sit longer than boys.
Physical fitness can reduce obesity rates of both males and
females, improve academic performance, and contribute greatly to
child development.
I directed most of my message to then School Superintendent
Dr. Gene Harris. I even said that I had tried to reach her, to no
avail. Her staff insulated her well.
After speaking I returned to my seat. Ironically my seat was
right behind Dr. Harris. She leaned back with papers covering her
mouth and said, How dare you get up there and base me out like
that! Heres my card. You call me. Taking the card, I assured her
Id be in touch.
Following Mayor Coleman and Safety Director Mitchell
Browns discussions, Assistant Director Bill Walker presented
statistics pertaining to Columbus homicides:
77% of homicide victims were Black.
74% of perpetrators were Black.
54% of victims were between the ages of 16 and 24.
Those alarming statistics called for immediate attention and
action. The situation was urgent. Most programs focus on treating
symptoms, but I believe in treating the cause. We must catch our
youth at a young age and steer them in positive directions.
167
Our children have nothing to hold on to. When they have

nothing to hold on to, they will fall for anything. They need to
know their roots. Beginning in middle school, we need to teach
young Black males the meaning of fratricide. We need to teach
Black history, their history, to give them something to hold on to.
As we discussed solutions to the problem, John Gregory,
Rashid Wilson, and Manning Baumgardner recommended Walter
Smith for the job. I must say, I was surprised.
L E T S F IX I T
A Q&A session wrapped up the summit. One brother said, I
didnt know this meeting was about getting convicts jobs.
Another brother asked, Why do we always focus our attention
on people who do wrong? Why dont we focus more attention on
A students?
Clearly the questions were being directed at me, a former felon.
It was difficult for me to sit there and not respond after being
busted out like that. I saw then that this was something I would
have to get used to. Me against the world!
Not everyone saw me in such a negative light, though. As I
exited the theater, a few people showed me love. That was cool,
but really, I just wanted to get out of there.
One more person made his way to me. Paul Strong, the hip-hop
stations morning radio personality, introduced himself. The
brother said, You need to be on radio. I was like, WOW! Paul
said he was in the Radio One family and that hed explore the
possibility of getting me on radio.
Now that was a complete 360 degrees. The day proved to be
not so bad after all. I guess Id have to learn how to take the bitter
with the sweet, especially if I planned on becoming more active in
the community.
After the summit, Mayor Coleman appointed four individuals
to a task force to deal with Black-on-Black homicide and other
168
crimes in Columbus. Those four individuals were: Jerry Saunders,

Africentric Personal Development Shop; Eric Troy, Bell Resource
Center, Ohio State University; Reverend Harold Hudson, Calvary
Tremont Baptist Church; and Walter Smith, 25th Dynasty
Enterprise. Talk about becoming more involved in the community!
One week later, the first meeting was held in the office of
Safety Director Mitchell Brown. Twelve people were already
present when I entered the room. The feeling of rejection was
thick. Ouch! I sat down and resolved to do my best. This was not a
popularity contest. I was ready to focus and move on the business
at hand Blacks killing Blacks.
Everyone introduced himself or herself. The titles and
backgrounds were impressive. Surely, I didnt fit in this crowd.
It was my turn to introduce myself. As a former felon, I feel
very uncomfortable being here. I sense that youre not comfortable
with my presence. If you dont want me here, then I dont want to
be here. Ill get a hat and vacate the premises. Im only here
because the mayor appointed me to the position.
When the meeting finally ended, man was I glad to get out of
there. On my way out, Bill Walker, the Assistant Safety Director,
invited me to his office. He was the only White person in the
meeting.
We discussed creating a summer program for youth. We hit it
off well. I felt better leaving than I did arriving. That was a relief.
It was time to get busy. I showed up for one thing and one
thing only: Blacks killing Blacks! Mayor Coleman wanted to
reduce the homicide rate, and I was there to deliver.
C AR E P R O V ID E R
Back to doing what I love and do best: speaking. I had planned
to work my way down South. It was high time for me to move
Mother in with me. Alzheimers had taken more control of her and
169
her thinking. The sweet, loving side of Mom, for the most part, had
given way to anger and rage.
Because of her fits of erratic behavior, my cousin asked me to
come to Louisiana to give them a break. I told them that when
school ended for my niece Carlesha that year, Id be there to
relocate them to Columbus.
On May 30, 2006, I arrived in Louisiana to pack up my mother
and niece. At this point, anything I asked of Mom she would do.
When she had been in her right mind and Id asked her to move in
with me shed say, Im going to stay put. Now in a childlike
state of mind, she was giddy and ready to hit the road.
Carlesha and I had a good time with Mom on our way to
Columbus. Whenever we played T.I.s song, What You Know
About That, Mom would sing along. Yes, she was rapping. We
returned to Columbus on June 2.
Over the last eight years, I had been preparing myself for this
moment. I knew it would be rough, but I was ready to take on the
challenge. A new life started for the three of us. Up to this point, it
had only been Spikey (my Maine Coon cat) and me. Now I had my
mother and my niece.
Soon after our arrival in Columbus, I took my mother to the
John J. Gerlach Center for Senior Health. They were great! They
prepared me well for what lay before me. The medical team
evaluated and determined her state of Alzheimers to be severe.
They recommended that she be given 24-hour care in an adult
living care center. No, no, no, no, no! She would get the best 24hour care at home with me.
Prior to moving Mom in with me, I lived out of suitcases and
on and off airplanes. All of that had to change.
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16: STREET SOLDIERS

While on tour, speaking in Kentucky prisons, I got a call from
Radio One. On the phone was City, Power 107.5s number one
hip-hop nightly DJ. It was always cool hearing from him. He said
the station was interested in having me do a show.
Cool! What did I need to do? Can you get by the station on
the 11th of July? City asked.
No problem, big guy, I said. Ill mark my calendar. Look
forward to meeting with you!
I arrived at the station early. The receptionist offered me coffee
and made sure I was okay. I was so ready to mix it up with City.
Unfortunately that was not to be. Two men greeted me,
introducing themselves as managers JD Kunes and Jeff Wilson.
We went into a conference room.
They talked about starting a new radio talk show. At first I
thought they only wanted me as their first guest. Wrong! They
wanted me to host the show.
I was like, what? Yes, yes, triple yes! Id love to host the
show, I said. Now that would be the stuff.
JD said, Itll be a two-hour talk show on the air every Sunday
night. Youll be on 7 pm until 9 pm. Do you have any questions?
Yes.
What do I do about 60 Minutes? I never miss the show. Im
in front of the TV every Sunday night to catch it.
Of course, I quickly kicked that thought to the curb. I was
ready to jump all into some Sunday night talk radio. I had to pinch
myself to make sure this thing was real. Straight up, this was some
sho-nuff, un-cut, good stuff! It had always been a dream of mine to
be a DJ. Talk radio was a good start.
Then reality hit. I thought about my idol, motivational speaker
Les Brown, and how he left radio. Les had been an outspoken
activist in Columbus. Another strong voice on the same station
belonged to the late Bill Moss. Both men were strong leaders in the
community. Les had been fearless. Im sure he pissed off a lot of
people. As a result, on November 22, 1978, Les was fired from
WVKO radio.
His firing hit me like a ton of bricks. If it happened to Les, it
would probably happen to me. But so what? Until then, I vowed to
do what I had to do STOP THE KILLING! I had come too far to
turn back now. A proud graduate of Mandatory University USA,
armed with a masters degree in Streetology and a doctorate in Pain
and Suffering, I had everything I needed. It was time to go to work.
I jumped in the car and immediately called my partner, Cecil
Ahad. Guess what, my brother. I got that call.
What call, Bruiser?
Were gonna be on the radio. You and I are gonna host a radio
talk show. This is it!
F IR S T S H O W
This was the moment Brother Cecil and I had been waiting for.
With the power of radio, we could make Columbus a safer place to
live. Joined by engineer Layne Love, we were ready to go. City
and John Blaze, Power 107.5s hip-hop DJs, also helped us get off
to a good start.
Dont touch that radio. Dont touch that dial. Pick up the
phone and call somebody. Call anybody. E-mail and text your
family and friends, and let them know theres new blood in the
hood.
For Cecil and me, it was time to roll up our sleeves. Work call!
Time to get down and dirty. We had come too far to turn back
now.
The focus of our first show was homicides and gang activity.
We had nothing but love for the brothers and sisters out there. We
put the call out for gangbangers to put their guns down.
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Chapter 16: Street Soldiers
Of course, we had to weave music into our mission. We

featured rap artist Petey Poblos Roll Off and He Spoke to Me.
Remarkably, street people responded. Most openly expressed
themselves. It was a little rough at first, but that was all right.
Before long things smoothed out. We were rolling!
Cecil and I were doing what we swore to do when we were in
the joint. Our mission was to Save Our Children. We made history.
Our first show was a hit!
K IC K I T U P
After about four weeks, JD called me into the office. I wasnt
surprised. New to the game, I expected such and looked forward to
it. Whats it gonna be?
Straight to the point, JD said, The shows off to a great start.
Youre getting lots of calls, and thats a good thing. But I think
were missing a little something. Can you be a bit more dynamic?
How about some controversy? Youre too laid back over the air.
Make some noise out there, Walter. Make some noise.
Glad to know you like what were putting down so far. Still
feeling my way around the radio game, I said Id see what I could
do. One thing I refused to do, though, was discuss religion and race
unless those topics were the subject of national news.
Getting too deep into religion and race only angers and divides
people. Nothing positive comes from such. That wasnt me, and I
would do my best to leave these topics at home where they
belonged.
Youll know when I hit a nerve or two on Street Soldiers, JD.
Ill turn it up, but I refuse to come off as a demagogue.
R E D UC E H O M IC ID E S
Now back to business. Reducing homicides was what we came
here for, and that was what we were gonna do. Such a task called
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for the right leadership. Cecil and I were men on a mission. We

needed to prove to the mayor and others that we could deliver.
I was convinced that through radio, we could save a life or few.
Being former felons was the key to our success. Our backgrounds
gave us street credibility. The thugs were listening!
After the meeting with JD, Cecil and I brainstormed. We
drafted a plan. Our first step was to seek out a pattern of low
homicides. We landed on 80 two years in a row (see chart below).
That would be our baseline.
H OM I CI D E S T A TI STI C S S I X Y E AR S
YEAR
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
# OF HOMICIDES
80
80
112
89
104
104
79
We kicked off our January 1, 2007, show with a goal to bring

the homicide rate to less than 80. Two-thirds of our shows during
the year were focused on just that.
Speaking in schools had taught me to keep it real with the
youth. A young Mexican gangbanger at Memorial High School in
Houston, Texas, brought it home for me. After my talk he came up
to me. Small in stature but huge in heart, he said, We like you,
man, cause you keep it real. Keep keeping it real, Mr. Smith.
Keeping it real is what I will always do.
Our audience grew. More and more youth and young adults
were listening to us on the radio. We knew how important it was
for us to reach the two groups, so we wove a rich message of
education and peace with conscious music. That mix was our hook.
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Jaheims Fabulous, Nas I Can, and Whitney Houstons

Greatest Love of All were three of our favorite featured songs.
Our second hook was reading. We preached it nonstop. Our
catch phrase was, Reading will teach you anything you want to
know and take you any place you want to go. That was the Street
Soldiers mantra. Keeping youth in school was good insurance that
they would stay out of gangs and off the streets.
Next we had to reach the thugs. Brother Cecil and I hooked up
with local rappers and gangbangers. Our purpose was to treat the
causes that contributed to violence in our communities. In order to
do that, we had to be on the frontline. It was necessary to get face
to face with the problems. We hit the streets!
M E N F O R TH E M O VE M E N T
Answering Mayor Colemans call for action to reduce violence
in the community, Charles Traylor reached out to Cecil Ahad,
Dennis Muhammad, Donell Muhammad, and me. Each of us was
known for being on the frontline of our community and abroad and
working with Black males. We were Men for the Movement
(MFM). A plan of action was put into place.
With the word out for strong men to unite, more than 25
brothers joined MFM. We trained intensely for two weeks then hit
the streets. It was time for change. United, MFM and Street
Soldiers went to work.
Our goal was to reduce homicides and curb violence. Once a
week we did One Hour of Power walks throughout the
community. Twenty-five or more of us would go door to door with
our message, looking for recruits. Talk about keeping it real, we
did that and more. Work call!
We hit the roughest parts of the city. MFM was known
throughout the hood. Not only did we talk the talk, but we walked
the walk. Following a homicide, we would meet with the families
of both the victim and the accused. Everyone needed healing.
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Like white on rice, we were on it! Wherever there was crime,

there we were, too. Night or day, it didnt matter. Proudly we were
radio in part but the streets in full.
Our sole purpose was to meet people, person to person, face to
face. In order to do that we had to have courage and be willing to
get down and dirty! That was a given.
These were our people, our Mothers and Fathers, Sisters and
Brothers, Sons and Daughters. These were our Babies. They were
our Family and our responsibility.
We held babies and comforted mothers of murdered children.
We went to funerals and supported vigils. We fed hungry families
and searched for missing children. We picked up trash and helped
a charter school prepare to open.
Wherever there was a need, we were there. We always did
what we had to do! At times, we had to put ourselves directly in
the path of harm and danger. We did what we had to do!
MFM stopped a beer and wine carryout from getting a liquor
license in Mount Vernon (MV), a high drug area. MV already had
enough problems, and liquor sales would have made a bad
situation worse. A lot was at stake here. Rich in history, MV was
once the heartbeat of the inner city. It was known as the Black
Wall Street of Columbus. MFM refused to let the area sink even
lower. Fraught with poverty, drug addiction, alcoholism, and
mental illness, MV simply didnt need liquor sales. With this
stance, MFM prevented yet another liquor store from rising up to
kick a people when they were already down.
F R A TR I C ID E
Words are powerful. When talking about brothers killing
brothers I prefer the term fratricide over homicide. The word frater
comes from France and means a brother or comrade, especially as
in a fraternity.1 From a Black perspective, a brother can be a
blood relation or a friend. Brother can also refer to the fraternity of
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men in special situations (church, mosque, temple, prison, the

streets). As social creatures, we need to be a part of a group/gang.
Good or bad, were going to bond with others. Thats what being a
brother is all about, and thats why killing another brother, whether
blood relation or not, creates so much pain and suffering in the
community.
The latter part of the word, cide, is also French. It means
killer or to kill. Before we put the two parts together, lets look
at a few words that contain cide.
Fratricide
Homicide
Genocide
Suicide
Pesticide
Fungicide
Femicide
Infanticide
Heroincide
Cide is nothing good. A report by the Centers for Disease Control
and Prevention says that homicide is the leading cause of death
among Black men aged 15 to 34. The data and facts are clear.
More blood will spill into the streets of the hood.
The Black male has become an endangered species. We must
stop the madness. If not us then who? If not now then when? Its
time to stop the killing.
G R E AT C A TC H
During a One Hour of Power walk, I met a gang member.
Known as Half Dead in the streets, his real name was Dartanian
Hill. We hit it off from the jump. He wanted to know why brothers
were all dressed up, walking through the hood. We later learned
that he was the founder of the Bloods in Columbus.
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Half liked what he saw. After kicking it for a minute, he

wanted to be a part of MFM. He was moved by what we were
doing.
Our goal was to save brothers. Thats what we were all about.
Soon after that, Dartanian joined MFM and became a Street
Soldier. I welcomed him in my home and was straight to the point
with him on that one. No problem. He understood and proved that
he was on the one.
I took a real liking to him and trusted Half like a brother. In
need of a brother, we killed two birds with one stone. He offered to
assist me in any way he could. Thats what a good brother should
be about. True to his word, he delivered.
I needed help with my business. He came along right on time.
We learned a lot from each other.
From time to time, he would sit in on Street Soldiers. He added
punch to our gangs and homicide shows. His words were
respected. Both youth and the brothers in the streets listened to
him.
Our credibility was sky high. We were not stuffed shirts
stepping out from behind desks. The streets accepted us. Cecil and
I shocked the conscience and consciousness of our young listeners.
We worked it out, and thats what it was all about!
A S C O R N E D C H ILD
A mother called in the middle of the night. A regular listener of
Street Soldiers, she contacted me on my 24-hour phone line. It was
1:10 am, early Sunday morning. Her 16-year-old son, who had
been struggling in school, stormed out of the house after learning
that the man he called Daddy (her husband) was not his biological
father.
When the milk has been spilled you cant un-spill it. The cat is
out of the bag. Where do we go from here?
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Out of bed I jumped. I gave her my personal cell phone number

and told her to call me whenever she found out where her son was.
She called later with a location, and I was on the spot in 15
minutes. Time was of the essence. Leading with Street Soldiers, he
knew who I was. I also had been in his school. Powerful!
I invited him into my car. He was relieved to see Mr. Smith.
I offered him something to eat. No surprise, he wanted
McDonalds (young people are always hungry). Babies at heart,
many of our youth are confused. Even worse, some are spaced out.
As he entered my car, a pistol fell from his waistband. Okay,
now that was scary. Here was a teen, going through some stuff,
packing a .45 automatic.
I asked, Whats up with the heater?
I need the protection, he said.
We kicked it for a while, and then I offered to take him home.
Not interested, he said. I explained that his mother had been in
touch with me and she really wanted him to return home. His face
said it all. This young man was missing his family but felt
compelled to rebel. He had to get a hat. I wasnt surprised. There
was nothing else I could do but give him my number. Breaking
camp, I wished him well. On to the next one, and off into the night
I went.
T W O F O R O NE
A few months later, I learned that my youngster was in police
custody. He had been arrested for murder. Another brother had
killed another brother. Two for one: one to an early grave, the
other sentenced to life in prison. He now joined the living dead,
better known as hell. Two mothers were left brokenhearted. The
seed, too, was killed. No more babies!
I often wonder what I could have done to prevent this act of
fratricide. Lives were lost because of disrespect. There are no
rules. Kill or be killed! Its called war.
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Still, theres hope. What can we do? We must treat the cause.
How do we go about that? We tell our story. Before a brother goes
through the door of no return, let us examine how he got there.
S UR V I VA L
Since the beginning of time, mammals have fought to survive.
Animals wake up every day to eat or be eaten. Take two mice that
live in a four-acre cornfield. Theres plenty of corn to go around.
With plenty to feast on, theres little to no stress. No need for war.
No war, no killing. When they see each other, everything is cool.
They go about their merry way, enjoying life.
Take the same two mice and put them in a 4x4-foot cage. Two
weeks go by and neither of them has eaten. Drop one kernel of
corn in the cage on day 15. Whats going to happen? Many people
say they will fight over the corn.
Wrong answer. They will KILL over the single kernel of corn.
Its called survival of the fittest. Even among animals, wars are
waged and fought over resources and boundaries. Its kill or be
killed, even in the wild.
Blacks start in the race of life in that 4x4-foot cage. Theyre
already behind when one kernel of corn is dropped inside the cage.
The cage is the hood, otherwise known as the concrete/asphalt
jungle or ghetto. The fight is on. Many are after that one kernel of
corn. May the best man win! Hope for the best and prepare for the
worst.
With little to no values or education, thugs will scrap over
those crumbs/drugs. Prostitution and petty crimes are used to grab
the crumbs. The turf is small, and the stakes are high. When
mankind has no morals and no values, killing becomes too easy.
The players become numb.
Thats just the way it is. Frederick Douglass said, Hungry men
will eat and desperate men will commit crimes. Going without
food for too long, hungry men will kill for it.
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D E ALE R S N O T K I LLE R S
Brothers are not afraid of dying. Theyre afraid of living.
People are always looking for ways to escape lifes stresses and
pressures. Drugs and alcohol become that escape. As long as
theres a demand, there will always be a supply.
If demand is the problem, then reduce the demand! This gets to
the root cause of violence and crime in the hood. Until we get to
the cause, then well have to settle on the lesser of the two evils:
dope dealing or senseless killing. Lets save the babies, and stop
the killing!
My approach is simple and is based on my past as a former
dope dealer. One of the most controversial things I said on the
radio was, If someone owes you $500 for a dope deal gone bad,
dont kill his ass. Hes better alive than dead.
If you kill the person who owes you money, youll never get
paid. Let him live. Make him get your money. One things for sure,
a dead man cant pay his debt.
Many accused me of encouraging youth to sell drugs. Not true!
But if you were forced to pick one of two evils, dope dealing or
fratricide, which would you choose? Which results in the greatest
loss? Which is final? DEATH IS FINAL! No return!
The dope dealer can be saved. He/she can be habilitated,
rehabilitated, reformed, or restored. No matter how hard I or
anyone else tries, we cannot bring someone back from death. Ten
percent of something is better than 100% of nothing.
Connecting with the brothers, Cecil and I earned their respect
and acceptance. We came from the same roots. We shocked their
thug conscience. We worked it out, and thats what it was all
about!
A M O TH E R S L O VE
Young people dont care much about themselves. Theyre
afraid of living. We encouraged youngsters to think about their
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mothers in everything they did. When doing wrong, think about

your mother. When hurting others, think of others hurting your
mother. Too many of us, too many times, cause too much misery
and pain to our mothers.
Mothers of murdered sons became part of Street Soldiers.
Within days of a murder, some mothers would come on our show,
pleading for brothers to STOP killing each other. That took a lot of
courage. Some of them hadnt even buried their sons. There they
were, pleading with other sons to stop killing.
We regularly went beyond the call of duty. We did our best!
We couldnt save them all, but they all could save themselves.
Ultimately its on them. Whenever theyre ready, they will smell
the coffee and know that life is worth living.
As for mothers with children still in the streets, hope for the
best and prepare for the worst. Death is not only permanent, but it
is guaranteed.
Street Soldiers could have done more to keep homicides at
record lows, but we suffered from a lack of funding. All of what
we accomplished came from our own pockets and individual
donations. We didnt do what we did for money, but we needed
money to do what we did.
Still, our mission was a success. We ended 2007 with only 79
homicides. We met our goal.
N O T A F LUK E
We did what we set out to do. Homicides did go down in 2007.
Street Soldiers was on the frontline, but law enforcement took all
the credit. The Columbus Dispatch interviewed me for its January
1, 2008, article on the murder reduction, but did not mention
Mayor Coleman or my work in that or the January 5, 2008, article.
Credit was given to the Columbus Division of Police and local
emergency medical care.
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Many people were actively involved in stopping the killing.

Never would I second guess or doubt that. Neither would I speak
against them and their actions. That would not be cool. Everybody
counts. But it did bother me that the Dispatch failed to mention
Street Soldiers involvement.
I know that not everything makes the news story. I got that!
But as active as we were and on such a large scale, it made no
sense to me that Street Soldiers work was ignored. The mayor and
his summit meeting to stop the killing should have been a part of
the news.
So for the record, allow me to recap our actions that led to a
successful reduction of the 2007 homicide rate:
Mayor Michael Coleman, City Councilman Kevin Boyce,
and Safety Director Mitchell Brown created a plan to
reduce the homicide rate in Columbus. An AfricanAmerican Male Empowerment Commission was formed. I
was appointed to serve. We focused on causes, symptoms,
and solutions.
The main hip-hop station, Radio Ones Power 107.5,
offered its services. Thanks to the owner, Ms. Cathy
Hughes, the show Street Soldiers was created and hosted by
Brother Cecil and me. The goal of the show was to stop
brothers from killing one another. Reaching youth was the
key.
Street Soldiers became a safe haven for the community.
Children called in regularly, saying things like, Gangs are
bad, and using drugs is stupid. Regular people would call
in to talk. The phone lines would be lit up every Sunday
night as soon as we went on the air. Everyone who wanted
to be a part of our live studio experience could come.
Seldom did we have a show without guests in the studio.
Our guests ranged in age from four to eighty years.
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Street Soldiers was a safe haven for gang members and

dope dealers. Gangbangers said things like, Im going to
stop carrying my pistol. Some said they wouldnt retaliate
when one of their people had been killed. This happened
more than once. Theyd come into the studio and on live
radio send a message out to rival gang(s), asking that there
be no more bloodshed and loss of life.
Most Sundays we addressed the homicide problem. It was
our mission. Point blank, Street Soldiers played a huge part
in the Columbus, Ohio, 2007 reduction of homicides. Our
goal was to end the 2007 calendar year with 80 or fewer
homicides, and we did just that!
Street Soldiers took to the streets. We went beyond the call
of duty. Problems didnt flare up only on Sunday nights.
Street Soldiers became a 24/7 service, not just a weekly
talk show. To date I know of no other talk show whose
people did so much in such a small period of time.
According to the media, the mayors police task force was

responsible for reducing the homicide rate. Had Street Soldiers not
been on the frontline of the history-making undertaking, I could
easily sit on the sidelines and accept the task force claim. With a
lot of skin in the game, however, I refuse to do that.
The truth is that 79 is the lowest homicide rate for Columbus,
Ohio, between 2000 and 2015. Two former felons, Brother Cecil
and I, led that charge. We did what we set out to do!
Brother Cecil founded Men for the Movement (MFM), an
organization that began to take up a lot of his time. Sadly he
resigned his role as co-host of Street Soldiers at the end of 2008. It
was time for a change.
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T E AM D Y N AS TY
In order to kick Street Soldiers to a new level, we had to grow
the show. Still rolling with me was Layne Love. Engineer
extraordinaire, he was the minister of music and the spiritual voice
of the show. Pushing all the buttons and pulling all the knobs,
Layne Loves game was tight.
The lovely Elisha Lee was a member of the crew. Starting out
as a strong listener/supporter, she fit right in and was perfect for
our flow. Beautiful and intelligent, her voice was sweet, sexy, and
soothing.
The search was on for another voice. We werent sure whether
it should be a male or female. One day at an MFM meeting, I heard
Brother Kwodwo Ababio * speak about youth and immediately
knew he was right for our team. Without a second thought, I asked
if he would like to join. The brother graciously accepted and fit
right in. Now we had four strong male voices: myself, Kwodwo,
Layne Love, and occasionally Brother Cecil.
Wound all the way up, we were ready to roll. It didnt take
long for the team to jell. Opening the show with comedic bits was
our signature. Elisha Lee and Layne Love added spice to the
impromptu zany antics Kwodwo and I created.
We worked hard to please the people. Knowing that the best of
fans would not catch us every week, we showcased PSAs (public
service announcements) by the lovely Elisha Lee at 8:00 pm every
Sunday. That way everyone could always be in touch. Many
people would tune in just to hear her. With great jazz in the
background, the spot had its own flavor. We did our best to work
smart.
*
Kwodwo Ababio is the founder and owner of New Harvest Urban Arts
Center and Caf. A social activist and North Linden Area Commissioner,
Kwodwo (pronounced Kwojo) is also the father of urban farming in
Columbus.
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The youngest caller to the show was four. Our most senior
caller was Mrs. Jeanette James. We asked her, with the greatest
respect, how old she was. Reluctantly she said she was 76. She was
the matriarch of not only our show but also the community.
Child abuse was one of many sensitive topics we discussed.
Whenever we addressed rape and molestation, wed make sure to
have specialists join us. Leading the way, of course, was Elisha
Lee. Angela Heard and Mrs. Shawndretta Boykins were regulars
on such subjects.
We felt it necessary to ALWAYS have a feminine voice on the
show. Barbara Fant and Shemeka Moore graced us with their
poetry. Both were gifted poets and added more blessed feminine
flavor to our show. We also made sure to include youth voices. We
prided ourselves on being diverse and well rounded.
I must also mention Marcus Cameron and Drew Taylor. They
sat in the engineers chair when Layne Love was absent.
Striving for excellence, we kept getting gooder and gooder.
(The word gooder is a Walter D. Smith creation.) I loved playing
with words on the air. Throwing out words like BS, or Bad Stuff,
made us unique. Broken English to many, but good stuff to us.
There was one rule that our team lived by on the air. We
couldnt use the word uh. HATED IT! Such a waste of airtime.
On average we only had 100 minutes out of 120 to talk, with the
extra 20 minutes going towards commercials. We didnt have time
for any uhs!
S TR E E T S O LD IE R S A C C O M P LI S H M E N TS
Street Soldiers stayed on the air for six years! We were more
than just a talk show. We were hands on, accessible, and visible.
Hiding behind the microphone, talking stuff was easy. Not us! We
were on the streets. Following are some of our most outstanding
accomplishments.
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Dictionary giveaway. In cooperation with the Eldon Ward

YMCA, we collected and distributed 60 new dictionaries for
children. With reading being our main theme, we wanted to
encourage all youth to own their own dictionary. All children had
to do was call in, and wed give them a dictionary. They could pick
them up at the Y, or wed deliver them to their homes. The
children were great, and we greatly loved them!
Fun at the Clippers game. Supported by mainly mothers, we
took 26 young people to a Columbus Clippers baseball game. The
Clippers are the farm team for the New York Yankees. We
provided our own transportation, and the mothers raised money for
hot dogs and other treats at the stadium. The tickets were donated.
The children had a ball.
Substance abuse support. One thing always bothered me with
talk radio. Lots of shows talked about drugs and addiction, but
didnt have assistance or relief available for listeners. Our many
shows on drugs, drug use, and drug addiction took the game to
another level. People would call in for loved ones in need of help.
Addicts would also call. Those were the best calls. I guess you
could call it reality radio. We made sure to have several phone
numbers available for services that helped with child abuse, drug
and alcohol abuse, and many other kinds of abuse. On three
separate occasions, Street Soldiers arranged for full-service drug
treatment through the Alcohol Drug and Mental Health Board of
Franklin County (ADAMH) and Comp Drug. I have Brother Ako
Kambon to thank for that. That was one of our proudest moments
during our six-year run on the air. Two of the three stayed clean.
Now thats straight-up good stuff!
Walk & Talks. On Saturday mornings for 12 straight weeks,
we walked six miles and talked every Saturday morning. Starting
late winter, we walked through spring and summer. Our goal was
to get into better shape and get to know each other. We got as
many as 38 people walking with us. Over the 12 weeks, one person
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lost 30 pounds and one got off high blood pressure medication. A
couple even removed themselves from divorce court and renewed
their wedding vows! The oldest person was a fit 86 years, the
youngest was six. Walk & Talk was a great success.
Food for the hungry. One of my most heart-wrenching shows
was when a mother called in to say that her children were hungry.
She said they had not eaten a good meal for several days. At first I
was going to grab a few things from my home and take them to
her. Instead, I went grocery shopping with $250 from our Street
Soldiers community fund. When I entered the home with groceries,
one of the children asked, Are we going to have ramen noodle
soup? I said, Not tonight, baby. Mommy is going to fix you a
nice pot of spaghetti and meatballs, broccoli and cheese, garlic
bread, a tossed salad, and Sierra Mist. Like unto Jesus feeding the
hungry. We felt real joy about that one.
Access to DNA testing. Robert McClendon, James Fears, and I
joined lawmakers to pass Senate Bill 77, which would give
inmates better access to DNA testing and strengthen requirements
on the retention of biological evidence. It also required that
interrogations be recorded and that lineups be administered blind,
with officers in charge kept unaware of which person or photo was
the actual suspect. My story appeared in a Columbus Dispatch
article:
[Walter Smith] said there were major questions
about his photo lineup. The victim clearly said she did
not pick a picture, but in the transcript, the detective
repeatedly said he picked my picture because out of the
six he showed her, it was mine that made her cry.
And in the physical lineup, the 200-plus-pound
body builder said he was 40 to 60 pounds heavier than
anyone else. Ray Charles would have picked me in
that lineup.
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He said the bills blind lineup requirement is a start

to fairness, a position backed by former Ohio Attorney
General Jim Petro, and Mark Godsey, director of the
Ohio Innocence Project.2
Pedestrian safety. The number one thing that touched me the
most was the death of Mrs. Vina M. Carmichael. While she was
attempting to cross a five-lane road on June 23, 2010, a speeding
car killed her. The loving mother had only lived in her new place
three days. She never made it home from her part-time job.
According to her daughter, Vanessa Carmichael, her mother never
drove a day in her life. She used public transportation for 56 years
without incident. Her untimely demise shocked many. When Mrs.
Carmichaels relatives joined the Street Soldiers team in the studio,
many were inspired to support our efforts for change in the area.
There was a cry for a more pedestrian-friendly thruway. We asked
for support over the air. We took the matter straight to city
officials, and many committed to the cause. The turnout was great.
A total of 24 people showed up at a city council meeting. The
meeting started at 5:00 pm. The family members were the last to
be heard at 9:35 pm. A few people had to take off, but many of us
hung tough. We stayed with the family until the end.
Because of the public outcry, city council members assured us
that a study would be done on the area. I must say, each council
member was caring and sincere. Upon completion of the study, a
report was given to Mayor Coleman. Extensive safety
enhancement modifications were implemented at a cost of
$660,000.
Sidewalks were added on both sides of the road. Traffic lights,
crosswalks, and streetlights were also added. The Central Ohio
Transit Authority (COTA) played their part, too. They
consolidated bus stops along coming and going routes. Ultimately,
Refugee Road was improved. In honor and memory of Mrs. Vina
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M. Carmichael, the Refuge Road improvement project was a great

success.
G UE S T G R E A TS
Our show provided the community a great dose of
edutainment. Education was what we were all about. It was our
show anchor. With frills and thrills, we entertained our audience as
well. Both were important. The mixture kept us fresh.
Our teams timing and rhythm were electric! Our stuff was
amped. Thats what set us apart from other talk shows. In the
minds of many, we were number one.
For a mostly local show, our guest list was impressive. We
featured the likes of the Last Poets; Omar Bin Hessian; Black
Panther founder Bobby Seale; Eyes on the Prize author Juan
Williams; Pastor of the Empowerment Temple AME Church of
Baltimore, Maryland, Reverend Jamal Bryant; R&B artist
Michelle; former NBA players, Michael Redd and Granville
Waiters just to mention a few.
Dr. Claude Anderson was always a hit. Our listeners loved
him. Most know of his book Powernomics. His focus is on Black
capitalism and wealth.
Educator Dr. Steve Perry was a frequent guest on our show. I
was impressed with his book, Man Up. This educator practices
what he preaches. Hes all about educating our children, and he
walks the walk.
Dr. Umar Abdullah-Johnson was special in his own right. A
nationally certified school psychologist, he is also a blood
descendant of abolitionist and orator Frederick Douglass. His spirit
is representative of his rich family history.
One guest was an unusual emergency room doctor based in
Toledo, Ohio. A real Street Soldier, Anthony D. Atkins, M.D is
literally on the frontline, practicing Family Medicine/Urgent Care
in the streets in addition to his hospital responsibilities. He felt the
190
need to do more for the youth he treated. Doc produced a

conscious CD called Life Storyz, State of Emergency.
Avoid risky behavior! hed caution youth. Avoid early and
unprotected sex. Dont smoke cigarettes, and dont drink alcohol.
Most of all, dont use drugs and avoid gangs!
When Senator Barack Obama announced his bid for the
presidency, Street Soldiers strongly supported the historical feat.
We hosted actor and author Hill Harper, Judge Glenda Hatchett,
Attorney Charles Ogletree, Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick,
business magnate Russell Simmons, American philosopher and
activist Dr. Cornel West, and of course, our very own Mayor
Michael B. Coleman. It was a good thing and Im glad that Street
Soldiers contributed to Senator Barack Obama becoming the first
Black President of the United States of America.
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WCKX Power 107.5. Street Soldiers host Walter D. Smith,

The Strongest Man in Radio. July 2006 November 2012
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17: STRONGEST MAN IN RADIO

One of the highlights of hosting Street Soldiers on Radio
Ones Power 107.5 was interviewing the one and only Bill
Cosby. Getting Bill Cosby was my proudest moment in radio.
All the hard work as the producer, investigator, researcher, and
host paid off in a huge way. Cosby did one full hour with us. The
community loved him. He did what he does. He inspired,
educated, and entertained us. We got nothing less than his best.
The second hour was also packed with comedy. The night
before, my lady and I had traveled to the Dayton Funny Bone to
see Chris Paul and Huggy Low Down, two of the hottest
comedians in the country. Not only did I score them for my radio
show, they gave me my new radio name.
Sporting a muscle shirt (my 18 inch guns/biceps were fully
loaded), I approached the two comedians and asked them to do
my fourth year anniversary show. Chris Paul said, With guns
like that just tell us the time and place. We shook hands, making
our deal solid. Huggy said, This has got to be the STRONGEST
MAN IN RADIO. Damn! Give me my hand back. Too funny!
Chris and Huggy were in our studio the next day.
The mixture of the old and new was cool the elder
comedian and great TV star Bill Cosby and the two new young
comedians. It was a great show.
Being able to bring such greatness to a local radio talk show
made me feel good. Such a zenith is what makes life worth
living. I will always remember Dr. Bill Cosby for his
philanthropy, contributions to movies, television, and of course
African Black history in America.
None of it would have been possible without Ms. Cathy
Hughes. She has made her mark in the media. What an honor to
have worked under her greatness.
B IL L C O S B Y S N IG H TM AR E
In my lifetime, Bill Cosby has been one of the most popular
Black men in America. (Muhammad Ali, to me, is #1). Cosbys
image was spotless. The rape claims against him shocked me and
the nation. We grew up on Cosby. I must speak about the matter.
Whenever youve been victimized, tell someone. You must let
others know that youve been violated.
Whenever youve been falsely accused, tell someone. You must
let others know that youre innocent.
One of the worst things that can happen to a woman is to be
raped. One of the worst things that can happen to a man is to be
falsely accused of rape. My point is, act quickly when raped, and
speak up and out quickly when innocent.
No matter what people say or think about Bill Cosby, his body
of work will forever remain in the annals of history. Love or hate
him, thats a fact.
M IT T R O M N E Y S 47% D IS AS TE R
It was the 2012 presidential campaign season, and President
Barack Obama was running for reelection. Mitt Romney was
running against him on the Republican side.
As Ohio goes, so goes the election. In the last week of the
campaign, all eyes were on the city of Columbus, the state capitol.
The race was tight. With Ohio being a swing state, every vote
counted.
Blacks would make the difference in this election. Many were
still undecided. CNN zeroed in on that. They hunted for those notso-sure voices.
As a talk show host, I was on it. This was news for grassroots
Blacks. Good stuff! I encouraged listeners to get out and vote to
take up the slack for the Romney Blacks.
Then Mitt Romney shot himself in the foot. In a meeting with
some of his wealthy comrades, he made a statement that didnt sit
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Chapter 17: Strongest Man in Radio
well with many voters. Someone secretly caught him on video

saying:
There are 47% who are dependent upon
government, who believe that they are victims, who
believe the government has a responsibility to care
for them, who believe that they are entitled to health
care, to food, to housing. My job is not to worry
about those people.
I knew there would be some Blacks who would still vote for
him. Slavery and its aftermath came to mind: WHITES ONLY,
BLACKS NOT ALLOWED! Oh, my bad. Im supposed to forget about
the past. Not a chance. Thanks to being falsely accused, convicted,
and incarcerated for raping three White women, I learned my
history.
Jim Crow wasnt that long ago. Romneys comment reminded
me of American segregation, racism, and classism. Forget about
those people. Theyre inferior. Rich only, poor not allowed. Whites
only, Blacks not allowed.
Of course, it wasnt his job to worry about that 47% or any
other segment of society. However, running for the highest office
of the United States, he should care about all people who breathe
American air. The poor, too, have rights.
Following such blatant disregard for nearly half the population
of our country, I thought it was important for voters of all colors to
discuss his comment on Facebook and Street Soldiers.
This wasnt a Black or White thing. It was about a large,
powerful, and neglected segment of our country: the poor.
On the campaign trail, Mitt Romney tried to stay away from
the secret comment. The presidents camp kept the story alive. The
heat was on to make sure that undecided voters remembered
Romneys remarks. The 47% ads ran endlessly.
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Romney did, however, eventually fess up to his erring

statement. I respected that. He gained a few points with me.
Romney told Sean Hannity (Fox News), I said something thats
just completely wrong My life has shown that I care about 100
percent, and thats been demonstrated throughout my life. And this
whole campaign is about the 100 percent.
It was my desire to dive neck-deep into the discussion on Street
Soldiers. I decided to flip the historical script. I posted the
following teaser for our next Sunday show on Power 107.5s
Facebook page and mine.
B L A CK S O N L Y , W H I T E S N O T A L L O W E D
Should you be a descendent of slavery, Black, and
you had the choice to pick your slave master, what
color would he be?
That notice went viral in Columbus. People were saying,
Listen to Street Soldiers. Theyre going to have a hot show
tomorrow.
Blacks have a stake here. I chose to zero in on that fact. I asked
listeners the following question: Should you consider both Mitt
Romney and Barack Obama to be evil and you had to choose
between the two, which one would you choose? Simple stuff. Dont
make it complicated. I told listeners to pick the lesser of the two.
How could conscientious Blacks NOT vote for a well-qualified
Black man for president? For most, it was a no-brainer.
How could the same Blacks vote for a White man who, in
secret, in the presence of other wealthy colleagues, implicitly said
that he did not care about nearly half of America? (By the way, I
actually liked Mitt Romney prior to his biased statement.)
Theres no place, in this day and age, for such bias. Our
country deserves better. Our citizens, voting and non-voting,
deserve better.
196
All my voting life I have voted for White presidents. Never did
I have a problem with that. Why then should I be criticized for
supporting a qualified Black man?
I asked listeners to choose between Obama and Romney
because I wanted to show that many Blacks think like slaves. How
did I know? Real simple. Prior to going to prison, I did, too. A
good slave knows what to say, how to say it, and when to say it.
That same slave knows what to do, how to do it, and when to do it!
Four people responded to my question on Facebook. Two
females and one male said they would have a White slave owner
as opposed to a Black slave owner. Only one Black female said if
she had a choice, her slave master would be Black.
Three out of the four people who responded said they would
prefer a White master. They said a Black slave owner would treat
them worse than a White slave owner. Many Blacks lack love for
self. We hate and do not trust each other. This is exactly what I
expected.
Black descendants of slavery have little to no culture. For the
most part, our only culture was inherited from our slave
experience. Lack of knowledge is deadly!
By the way, my Facebook post was removed.
W H ITE W A TE R
So go and vote, unsure Black folks, for Mitt Romney who stated,
My job is not to worry about those people. Choose the one who
just told you that he cares nothing about you.
Oh, thats right. White water is better than black. My bad.
Youre not one of the 47%. Youve made it. Youre special. You
got yours, now I and many others have ours to get. Got it.
This is the definition of classism.
Many Blacks still think white water is better than their own.
The 2015 movie White Water drives home this point. Based on a
true story, the movie takes place in Opelika, Alabama, in the year
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1963. A nine-year-old Black boy becomes obsessed with wanting a

taste of white water from the White Only water fountain. Despite
many scares and close calls, the story has a good ending.
Not so for the modern-day Negro. Many still feel that white
water is better than black. Such thinking is deadly to a people. Its
time for a wake-up call. What will we do? Whats it gonna be?
F AM I LY F IR S T
I simply wanted to encourage my people to unite around a
heart-to-heart discussion about our common problems. I wanted us
to sit down and figure out a way to save our children. Weve got
some serious work to do!
The family unit is key to Americas greatness. Rich or poor,
strong families are what keep us strong. Strong Black families are
needed. Yes, as a race of people we play a very important part in
the health of this country.
Before you can help another family, your own family has got to
be tight. If you cant pay your own bills, you cant help anybody
else pay theirs. Thats the law of nature.
T ALK A M O N G O UR S E L VE S
Lets say I was married and we were well-to-do. My sister, a
full-blown junkie, has died from a drug overdose. She has no
insurance. Laying her to rest falls squarely on the familys
shoulders. Six sisters and brothers, me included, will have to pay.
The funeral costs $10,000. Everyone knows that my wife and I
have the money. The other five do okay, too. My wife suggests
that she and I cover the cost. Point blank, I say no! At odds on the
matter, we have to discuss it.
My wife asks, How much would you be comfortable with?
Half would be fair. The other five siblings could contribute $1,000
each. My wife thinks Im being tight. I dont think I am. We go
back and forth about the matter over dinner.
198
Our discussion turns into an argument. The argument winds up

in bed with us. Now we all know that aint cool. My wife doesnt
let up, so I give in.
You know, whatever the wife says is how it almost always
goes. I agree to do $6,000. The point is, before I can even work
with my siblings, all of whom I love dearly, I must first confer
with my wife, my number one partner. Once she and I decide how
well move on the matter, I/we can then work with the rest of my
family, friends, and others.
Same thing with Black issues. As a people (family), we need to
have a discussion on our thing before we invite the extended
family, our White brothers and sisters (and others), to the table.
Except for Blacks, I know of no other group of people that
relies on others for their well-being. No Blacks have ever been
asked by other groups Jews, Germans, Italians, Hispanics,
Asians, Indians, or Whites to help them solve their problems.
They shouldnt have to. Its all about unity. Unified people fix
their own problems.
Are we dependent on the government, as Mitt Romney said?
Was he right? Is it time for us to save ourselves? What must we
do? Who will take a stand? Rosa Parks sat down to inspire us to
stand up.
Its long past the time for us to lock elbows and get busy. Trust
is a must among all of us. Minister Louis Farrakhan said, The
unity of us as a people will solve 90 percent of our problems,
because everything we need is already among us. How do we get
to that?
We need to have a frank Blacks Only discussion. We need to
talk! Before we kick it with the rest of the family, we have to iron
out our problems at home. Simply put, we need to tighten up our
game. We got a lot to do before we welcome others to the table.
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D J AN GO U N C H AIN E D
How do we do it? We shock the conscience. BLACKS ONLY,
WHITES NOT ALLOWED!
How dare you say such a thing, Negro.
Youre a racist and need to be kicked off radio.
Have you lost your convict ass mind?
Those were some of the nicer things people said to me for
trying to use a little satire to spice up the discussion about Mitt
Romneys 47%. The wrath of hate came down harshly on me. You
would have thought I had said nigger on the air.*
Back in the day, I would have been tarred and feathered. I
would have been castrated, flogged. Go ahead and hang the nigger.
One would think I had blasphemed Christ.
Comedians and rappers widely use the word. It is heavily
woven into rap music. Though slightly used or altered on radio,
our children get their share of the word from the radio. The word is
poured into our psyches.
Had a rapper or comedian said BLACKS ONLY, WHITES NOT
ALLOWED, not only would it have been accepted, it would have
been embraced, just like the word nigger/nigga. As long as Blacks
laugh, rap, and sing about its use, its cool. Just dont get serious or
use it to teach.
Dont get me wrong. I love comedy and like a lot of rap. Im
just saying. It is what it is.
Moviemakers (the powers that be) do what they want to do
unscathed. They have no rules or limits. Hollywood writers,
directors, and producers are free to run wild with nigger in their
*
Nigger is a mispronunciation of the word Negro (Spanish, meaning a

dark-skinned person). People want to ban and bury the word, but the
history of the word in America needs to be taught. Following sufficient
education, knowledgeable people will do the right thing towards the
words future use.
200
scripts. Actors openly and boldly say nigger in their movies, and
they get filthy rich doing so. In the movie Django Unchained,
Quentin Tarantino earned $425 million dollars calling Blacks
nigger. Actors said the word 112 times.
No one rallied to get him kicked out of Hollywood. Would the
movie have made less money if nigger had been spoken less? I
dont think so.
The point is, they used it excessively. Had they used the phrase
BLACKS ONLY, WHITES NOT ALLOWED, I dont think anyone
would have protested or boycotted the movie. The same is
obviously true with the phrase WHITES ONLY, BLACKS NOT
ALLOWED.
R AW T ALK R AD IO
Strong Black men can never publicly say BLACKS ONLY,
WHITES NOT ALLOWED, even when the phrase is used to lift up and
educate Black people. Pressure from White listeners prompted
Radio One to have the topic removed from our Facebook walls,
both theirs and mine. A few days later, I was fired. See ya.
Before the post was removed, the poll did reveal a few things.
1. We (Blacks) are very uncomfortable in our skin.
2. We (Blacks) are a lost people and dont like ourselves or each
other.
3. Whites cannot stand to even think about experiencing a scintilla
of the Black slave/Reconstruction/Jim Crow/Civil Rights
American experience. ZERO! ZILCH!
I expected the response from Blacks. We dont know our
history. What shocked me was the anger of the Whites.
The thought of them being discriminated against BLACKS
ONLY, WHITES NOT ALLOWED drove them crazy. Aint no fun
when the rabbit got the gun. Maybe a few of them, for that brief
201
moment, felt what Blacks have been feeling in America for over
400 years.
A M I R E A L LY F R E E ?
When a people find it easy to select their oppressor over a blood
relative, something is terribly wrong with the entire race.
Many people Black and White lost their lives to break
down the barriers of WHITES ONLY, BLACKS NOT ALLOWED.
BLACKS ONLY, WHITES NOT ALLOWED was never meant to be a
barrier. I publicly raised the issue in this satirical way to educate
people. Turns out it was too blasphemous, too taboo. For me, it
was radio suicide.
Whats wrong with many Blacks in America is that we dont
know who we are or where we come from. We dont know our
history. Those who dont know their history are destined to repeat
it. The way I was castigated and vilified by Blacks and Whites, you
would have thought I was a Black cop who shot a totally innocent
White choirboy in the back as he rode away on his bicycle.
Never did I say anything disparaging or condescending about
Whites or any other race, on or off the air. Such subjects make
people emotional and angry. That was not my style. Doing so
would have made me less than what I was created to be.
When I first took the show, I refused to deal with racism or
related subjects unless they were major news. Teach history, yes.
In a raw style, triple yes. Be a demagogue, no. My job was to make
people think and to make things happen. Thats what I did.
So I was kicked off the air. Talk about a lynch mob, I was
called everything but a son of God. Never was I given the least
chance to explain myself, my actions, or my intent.
Yes, my stuff was often raw. It was designed that way for
effect. My job was to get stuff done and provide solutions for
problems. One thing was for sure, I knew I couldnt come on radio
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like everyone else. I had to be different. I had to make a difference,

and that I did.
R E M E M B E R IN G D R . K IN G
I learned that there was a price to pay when you tell the truth.
A strong Black man can only teach raw Black history where
Whites are present and when Whites say so. Until that dynamic is
reversed, ignorance will keep our great nation paralyzed. That
brings to mind Dr. Martin Luther Kings 1963 I Have a Dream
speech.
I have a dream that my four little children will one
day live in a nation where they will not be judged
by the color of their skin but by the content of their
character. I have a dream that one daylittle black
boys and black girls will be able to join hands with
little white boys and white girls as sisters and
brothers.
I must breathe life into Dr. Kings dream. I have a dream that
little Black boys and little Black girls will study, learn, and teach
African Black history. The same is true for little White boys and
little White girls. I have a dream that they, too, will study, learn,
and teach African Black history. Thats when our history will
become true American history.
Once Black and White children unite and join hands, they will
be able to move this nation in the direction it must go. Get rid of
racism. A real effort must be made towards the eradication of this
disease. America will then be the true United States that it is
supposed to be.
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18: POINTING THE FINGER

My mission in life has been to stop brothers from killing one
another. For many reasons, we hate ourselves. If we dont love
ourselves, then we cant love others. We must learn to love
ourselves.
We cant control the actions of others. What we can control is
how we respond or react to others actions. Our lives often depend
on it.
When I was wrongfully convicted of rape, I had to get my
mind and heart together. It didnt matter how many times I pointed
my finger at the bad people who did this to me. Every time we
point a finger at someone else, we have three pointing back at us. It
starts there.
The real deal is that I didnt care about myself. If I had, I would
never have smoked cigarettes, drank liquor, used drugs, or
committed a felony. That was all on me.
The detectives, prosecutor, and judge cared nothing about me.
Why should they? I didnt care about myself.
I chose to destroy myself, break the law, and do wrong. Not
cool. I then made the choice to read, educate myself, and win!
Very cool!
Ignorance is not bliss. I had no culture, no values, no
knowledge about my history. Thanks to my grandmother, I learned
about my family and African Black history. I now know and love
myself, and my mission is to pass the love on to my brothers and
sisters.
In prison I discovered a secret treasure. Id seen this treasure on
the outside in plain sight, but I valued this treasure only when I
was on lockdown. What was this secret treasure? BOOKS! How
do you get the treasure? READ!
Reading can get you out of a tight spot.
Reading can be an escape.
Reading can reduce stress.

Reading can give you hope.
Reading can show you the light at the end of the tunnel.
Reading can open your mind and fire up your heart.
Reading can make you creative.
Reading can make you smart.
Reading can solve your problems.
READ!
R E AD IN G S A VE D M E
With no money and little help, I had to look for relief from
somewhere else. Its been said that Money is power. Thats cool,
but when you dont have any money, you have to run to your Godgiven asset: your brain! Relying on and exercising my brain was
my only hope. Education was the key.
Knowledge is more powerful than money. I had to pick up a
book and read. Like Mom used to say, Reading will teach you
anything you want to know and take you any place you want to
go.
An old saying in legal circles is, He who represents himself
has a fool for an attorney. Well, I say, When he cant find an
attorney to represent him, he who does not educate and represent
himself is an even bigger fool!
I entered prison reading on a sixth grade level. I left prison
reading on a 14th grade level. Reading repaired, restored, and
reformed me. Reading inspired, improved, and changed me.
Reading exonerated and freed me. Not only did reading free me
physically, but it also broke the psychological chains of slavery
from my brain!
B LAM E G AM E
I could have complained about the racism I had to deal with in
the justice system, but I didnt. Complaining about racism would
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Chapter 18: Pointing the Finger
not have helped me at all. Such whining would not have proven
my innocence. It would have been a waste of time and energy.
Only I could prove my innocence! No one was going to hand
me my innocence. I had to fight for it myself.
Despite racism and being locked up, I learned to love myself in
prison. Ironically that love grew from being honest with myself. In
the joint I was ruthless in my self-examination. Stuff came out,
both good and bad. There was guilt and shame. I had made bad
choices, but when I owned up to them, my self-worth grew strong.
I loved the fact that the solution to my incarceration was all on
me. I didnt play the victim card. If I was a victim, that meant
others had power over me. Not good. As long as I could blame
racism, I was under no obligation to improve or challenge myself.
It was too easy to blame The White Man as the cause of my
problems. Thats the problem with how many Black people think.
They think of themselves as poor, helpless, and apathetic. Oh, hell
naw! That just aint gonna be with me. What would pointing my
finger at The White Man do for me? Nothing!
I could have blamed my parents shortcomings or my
upbringing or peer pressure. That would have been too easy.
I couldnt see how my crying about social stuff was going to
help me. If all I did was cry, what would be left for the babies to
do?
B LA C K M A LE C R IS IS
A 2004 report by the CDC said that AIDS from young Black
males is the leading cause of death for Black women 25 to 34 years
of age. That sad reality is rooted in mass incarceration.
The leading cause of death among Black men 15 to 34 years is
another Black man. Both statistics came from the same report.
Brothers, we got a problem. A mere 6% of the national population,
Black males make up 47% of the prison population. One of the
reasons for that is we dont read.
207
Only 12% of Black males read at a sixth through eighth grade

level, compared to 47% of White males in the same grades.
Its high time we stopped killing each other and ourselves.
We must drop our cries of racism. Thats long overdue.
Lets fix the problem one person at a time. You take
responsibility for yourself, and Ill take responsibility for myself.
You fix you, and Ill fix me. Then we can get together as a strong
family! Then and only then will we be free.
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19: AGAINST ALL ODDS

Sometimes life just aint easy. Some people have all the bad
luck. The worst of the worst seems to follow some people
wherever they go. When it rains, it pours.
The laws of nature are brutal. Animals wake up every day to
eat or be eaten. James Brown once said, Pull yourself up by your
bootstraps. Easy to do when you got on some boots. When you
aint never had no damn boots, how you gonna pull yourself up by
the straps? Youd better figure something else out real quick.
Whenever stuff gets rough and you think about giving up, have
faith and believe in yourself. When the odds appeared to be against
me, thats when I reached deep down inside and said to myself,
Self, you were born to win.
When the worst of the worst came my way, when all odds were
stacked against me, I had one of two choices: adapt or die!
S UR V I VA L
My fight didnt start yesterday. It started for me in 1929, the
year my loving mother was born. Often I wonder what went
through my grandmothers mind when the midwife said, Its a
girl! and Grandmama heard her baby girl cry.
Grandma had no problem birthing males. She had seven strong
and healthy sons. All but one of them had children. Prior to Moms
birth, Grandma gave birth to two other girls. Both were stillborn.
Against all odds, my mom made it. Thank God she did, for without
her there would be no me.
My mother, wanting all girls, gave birth to three boys. I was
the middle child. From an early age, my mother always made me
feel special. She would make me her little girl by braiding my hair
and clothing me in dresses.
Right-handed early on, I recall my mom taking things from my

right hand and placing them in my left. She was left-handed. She
wanted me to be just like her. Wasnt I special?
If that werent special enough, how about my birthday? I was
born on both my grandparents birthdays. Just before midnight, on
December 14, 1957, my grandfathers birthday, my mother started
to push me out. Soon after midnight, on my grandmothers
birthday, December 15, Mother gave me life. I was born to win.
M Y L O V IN G M O TH E R
Wanting to be grown, I left home straight out of high school.
Lazy and missing Mamas cooking, I often wanted a good homecooked meal. Who did I call? My mama.
What did she do? Sister Girl would fix me a big ole pot of
spaghetti along with fried fish and a tossed salad. Then shed have
my daddy bring her and the warm meal to my home. She took care
of her baby. It was a given.
I was cool back in the day. I was so cool, when my son did
number two on himself as a baby, I took him straight to my mama.
Day or night, it didnt matter. Fussing and cussing (with love),
shed get busy changing Little Walter because I was too damn cool
to change his diaper.
Never say never. No one could convince me to change a
diaper. At the end of the day, I was too darn cool for that.
With my niece gone and our money funny, I couldnt pay for
care providers. Guess who ended up having to change diapers?
Yes. In my mothers final days, she had to wear Depends, and I
had to change them. God has a way of reminding us of our Im so
damn cool days.
Gods unwritten message to me was, Son, you will change
diapers.
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Chapter 19: Against All Odds
M O TH E R S F IN A L D AY S
On February 14, 2011, it was time for me to prepare my mother
for her doctors appointment. Looking good, Mom done already
been up, made her bed, and was ready to get in the wind. Dressed
to a tee, she was ready for us to hit the road. Lets get in the wind,
Sister Girl.
She always took slow and very careful steps, but something
was wrong this morning. She was stepping but not going
anywhere, walking in the same place. I swooped her up and carried
her to my car. With Mom locked in, I jumped under the wheel and
rushed to get her to her doctors appointment.
En route, I called the doctors office, letting them know that
Mom had nearly passed out. As I was parking, an aide headed in
our direction with a wheelchair. He raced Mother into the office
where she collapsed. CPR failed. Call 911, the doctor said.
Within minutes, the emergency squad rolled up.
I was glad to see them. That was her fourth time passing out in
the doctors office and the 18th emergency squad call over the six
years under my care. A real soldier, bless her heart. The squad unit
workers revived her. Thank goodness.
Mom was taken to Riverside Hospital. After about four hours, I
was told what room she was in. Hey, Chick, I said.
Hey, Rooster, she called out.
Everything seemed to be cool. The staff, as usual, loved her. In
all her splendor, that beautiful smile made my mom look young
and sweet.
Seeing that Mother was straight, I was able to make my break.
Hey, Chick, I gotta get a hat. See ya when I get back.
Okay, Rooster. Do what cha gotta do.
It had been a while since I had traveled for work. Mom had
always come first! I really needed that gig. Making a thorough
assessment of her situation, I decided not to cancel this speaking
gig. I had enough time to grab my bags and catch my flight.
211
Soon after landing in Seattle, Washington, I received a call

from Moms doctor. Mr. Smith? Your mother has taken a turn for
the worse. Its not likely that shell be here when you return.
Thanks, Doc, for taking care of my mom. I appreciate you for
reaching out to me. Having been down this road 18 times before,
Im sure Sister Girl will wait for her baby to return. Itll take a
couple of days to get my work in, and then Ill be back home.
Canada greeted me with record-breaking snowstorms. Not only
did cars and trucks run off roads, but so did the snow plows. It
didnt matter. When it was time to work, I had to get there. Stuff
had gotten rough. The Canada trip was right on time. Work call! I
was able to make enough money to get me over a few humps.
Three days later, I returned to Columbus.
M Y H AR D E S T P R AY E R
Straight to Riverside hospital I went to be at my moms side.
She was totally nonresponsive. This is it. As I stood there holding
my lovely mothers hand, she squeezed my hand, letting me know
that she could hear me. That was all I needed.
Okay, Ol Girl, this is it. Take that last turn. You have put in a
long and, at times, not so easy life. You have always been special
and highly loved.
This is it, dear Lord! Seldom have I ever asked much of You. I
love You with all my heart. It has always been my lifes purpose to
serve, honor, commit, and submit my all and all unto Thee
unconditionally. I ask that You take my mom on home. Sister Girl
has given all she can give. Please, I beseech Thee to take her to
her final resting place. I dare not be selfish and ask that You let
her live another day. That would be so unfair of me. Bring her on
home, dear Lord. Do this for me, I pray unto Thee.
Having gone through a modest six figures, mostly Mothers
money, she was well taken care of. Thats the way it was supposed
to be. Because of her savings, I was able to stop all the running
212
around, traveling and building my business to take care of her. You

only get one birth mother. For me, it was nothing to think about.
Take care of her.
Seventeen days later, our Creator called my mom home. It was
a long time coming. She passed peacefully on March 9, 2011. She
could now get some much-needed rest. Mama, we made it.
We were well prepared for Moms departure. We flew her
body back home, then laid her to rest on March 19, 2011. She
joined the rest of her family mother, father, and brothers in the
familys cemetery at Mt. Mariah Baptist Church in Gloster,
Louisiana. Glad that Mom made it back home. Her final resting
place is rich in history. It goes back to my great great-grandfather
Carolina Fuller, the patriarch of the family, where we all started.
His headstone reads 1818 to August 4, 1886.
To have a loving mother who stands by her son no matter what
is an amazing thing. Never once did she doubt me. Never once did
she refuse to be there for me. Now thats unconditional love in its
purest form.
T R UE O R IG IN AL
I would not have been set free if someone else hadnt cared
about me. My mothers love was just not enough. I was in need of
so much more.
Jerry Revish, WBNS 10 TV news, believed that I was innocent
of rape. He believed I should be free. From all the pressure, he
could see a diamond in the making a Street Soldier! He vowed to
free me. He did just that and more. Jerry took the tools of his trade
and rescued me. Such a rare being.
Despite my troubled background, this brother embraced me. He
did not reject, run away, nor look down on me. He inspired and
lifted me up!
The media played a pivotal role in the success of the civil
rights movement. I saw it as doing the same for me. This ambitious
213
young reporter with a bright future before him was sent into my
life to right a terrible wrong.
The brother took journalism to a new level. He used the power
of media and dedicated himself to saving my life. That just doesnt
happen anymore. Those days are over!
A true man of God, Jerry looked beyond my faults. My robbery
conviction didnt stop him. My prior drug dealing and addiction
didnt faze him. Never once did he ask whether or not I could have
blacked out during one of my drug binges and raped three women.
I modeled myself after my guardian angel and mentor when I
was on the radio. I did my best to exude the same polish and
integrity that he displays on TV.
214
Jerry Revish is a true original. The mold that made Jerry has
been broken. Thanks to him, I am free. With a new lease on life, I
am forever dedicated to helping others as Reverend Jerry Revish
helped me.
Reverend Jerry Revish & Walter D. Smith
215
EPILOGUE: GOOD ENDING

If you cant do the time, dont do the crime. Rather than let
time do me, I did it. I took my mind off my misery and put it on
my victory. I had to get out of prison and win me a bodybuilding
contest.
I turned my adversity into prosperity. I couldnt sit around
whining and crying about racism and how wrong the system was. I
controlled how I responded. This was on me. Rather than cry about
history being his-story, I decided to write my own history.
This body of work is a real-life story of lemons turned to
lemonade. I had to get out of the joint and win! If I can make my
dreams come true against all odds, then so can you.
Should I never accomplish anything else in life, I can say I did
it! My mind can rest at night because I did what I set out to do.
Against all odds, by and through the blessings of God, I exonerated
myself and walked out of prison, became a professional
bodybuilder, worked with children in 1,000 schools, and took care
of my mama.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many people contributed to the writing of this book. Some are
mentioned, but many are not. I will acknowledge, as best I can, the
ones who had the greatest impact on my life just before, during,
and leading up to the completion of this nine-year body of work.
Vickie Stringer, a renowned author and publisher, is the person
who leaned on me the hardest to set aside excuses and make time
to write. She said, Walter, you have a story to tell, and you need
to write about it. You need to tell your story rather than leave it
up to someone else. Write the book, Walter.
Her encouragement didnt stop there. Vickie strongly
supported Street Soldiers, my weekly radio talk show. She donated
more than $1,000 to our cause of reducing homicides, stamping out
violence, and other activities dedicated to saving our children and
lifting up our community.
Herbert and Nasandra Wright also contributed to our Street
Soldiers cause. With practically every venture in need of money,
the Wrights were there for our team and me. Thats what friends
are for.
The senior pastor of Triedstone Missionary Baptist Church,
Bishop Jerome Ross, rounded out our top three in terms of
financial support. Bishop Ross and Triedstone often hired me as a
speaker. I always enjoyed being part of their outreach programs.
Even before I went to prison, Bishop was there. In the midst of
my madness, I confided to him about my illness, and he took
action. I know all too well how much his ministry and more meant
to me. I will never forget how Bishop Ross helped me.
More than 40 individuals and churches supported us
financially. Donations were between five and five hundred dollars.
We could not have done as much as we did without their
contributions.
During this same time, taking care of Mother was a tall order.
Her failing health required 24-hour care. She raised her
granddaughter, my niece, Carlesha, and as it should be, Carlesha
ended up taking care of her grandmother. They were tight.
The time came when it was necessary for my niece to spread
her wings, and rightly so. I was then faced with the daunting task
of taking care of my mother alone. Point blank, it was rough stuff!
Val Smith, my friend of 35 years, invited Mother and me to his
Christmas party one year. It was there that I met Kelly Price. In
order for me to have a good time, Kelly, of her own volition, hung
out with my mother. The rest is history. During my absences, Kelly
was there for Mother and me until Mothers burial. I could not
have asked for a better care provider. We thank you, Ms. Kelly.
Call me if you need me are words often spoken by people
who really dont mean it. Not the case with Sonya Levatte. While
my mother was alive and afterwards, I have had to call on Sonya.
Like clockwork, she has been there. I got your back is all she
would say. Thank you, Sonya!
While taking my first much-needed break from caring for
Mom, I crossed paths with Pamela Patmon. With stuff having been
rough, timing could not have been better. We had something in
common. She, too, was taking care of her mother. Our unique
meeting was a blessing. We grew close as we took care of our
loving mothers. We both have laid our mothers to rest, but our
friendship continues to blossom.
After laying Mother to rest, I attempted to get my speaking
business back up and running. A year later and $100,000 in debt, it
wasnt working. I had to try something else. Herbert Wright came
to my rescue. One day as he was cleaning his Peterbilt over-theroad truck, I shared my struggles with him. He suggested that I hit
the road. Cool.
It was something I always wanted to do. The idea was
sounding gooder. I could get away and make good money at the
220
Acknowledgments
same time. I went to Road Master Truck Driving School, got my

certified drivers license, and went to work for Building Systems
Transportation (BST), based out of London, Ohio. I enjoyed doing
flatbed for the company. Being on the road was very good for me.
Driving coast to coast, I saw the beauty of this country up close
and personal.
I want to thank my manager, Victor Robertson, and Human
Resources Manager Tracy Mathewson for believing in me.
Together they helped me win at BST. Angie Bennington and Jeff
Hill were the best dispatchers in the industry, the real deal. Thanks
also to Jim Hoover at Valley Transportation for a meeting that
turned out to be more than just an interview. He gave me not only
the best advice for driving an 18-wheeler, but words of wisdom for
the road.
I have many to thank for the book cover design of Street
Soldier: From the Hood to the Good. Philippe SHOCK Matthews
who is the Oprah of internet gave the cover a facelift and I love it!
I am grateful for his artistic work. Former gangbanger Dartanian
Hill snapped pictures of me while I spoke at the Cease Fire
Columbus rally (August 28, 2010). Organized by Pastor Charles
Bond and supported by politicians, religious leaders, and
community members, the event was about preventing youth
violence. I asked my Facebook family to decide which of
Dartanians photos I should use. The one on the cover received the
most likes!
I thank Dale Gonzaleswhite, a very good friend of 35 years.
Whenever Im in any kind of artistic bind, I simply pick up the
phone and call Dale. His Platinum Eagle logo design exceeded all
expectations. Love it!
What can I say about my computer man? On call 24/7, Fred
Yancey has been there for me from day one. Fred kept the
computer running for the nine years it took to get this book done.
221
Whatever artistic tossups I had, I would run them by my twin

daughters Brianna and Iyanna Ross. They were also my sounding
boards on many difficult sections of the book. No, I didnt have to
read aloud to myself. I read to them, and they helped immensely.
Where do I start with this books chief editor, Cornelia
(Connie) Parkinson? From her I have learned so much on how to
become a successful author. Starting her writing career at age 11,
she has been dedicated to the industry most of her life. She has
edited 75 books and written 25. Im so glad to have met her. She
came strongly recommended by my long-time friend, Marv West.
My other editor was Jerold Imes. Young, creative, and
energetic, he came along at the right time to wrap the book up in a
grand way. Thank you for so much on such short notice.
Donna Marie Williams, an editor who works with public
speakers and entrepreneurs, also helped put finishing touches on
the manuscript at the last minute. Thanks, Donna, for helping me
cross the finish line.
For 26 years, Jerry Revish has been there for me. Singlehandedly he got me my life back. Whenever I am between a rock
and a hard spot, who do I call? Jerry Revish. Thank you, Rev, for
the title of this book. I also thank you for your help in finalizing its
cover design and so much more.
Over the many years of writing this memoir, I lost many people
who meant a lot to me and influenced my life in many ways. With
such a long list, I had to reluctantly alter my plan to name them.
I am compelled to note my Uncle Pack. We lost him April 1,
2015, at age 91. The rock and patriarch of our family, he was also
a father to me. Up to his last moments with us, he was still making
us laugh and think!
One of his final catch phrases to me was, We live every day to
die on one. His one day came. I must now pick up where Uncle
left off. I miss you, man!
222
Acknowledgments
Last but not least, my mother. There were times when Id be

working in my basement office and hear her walking around
upstairs. No problem. Maybe she was just getting some stuff done.
Once, when I came upstairs to check on her, I saw that Sister Girl
had taken lots of chicken out of the freezer to thaw for dinner.
Mom, why have you taken all that chicken out of the freezer?
I asked.
She said, Man, I have not been nowhere near that kitchen!
She was serious too. I had begun to understand various aspects of
Alzheimers. As long as someone was sitting with her, she would
not wander through the house and get into stuff. Lol.
It was then that I realized that Id have to stop traveling for a
while. Thats when I purchased a laptop and started writing this
book! Doing so allowed me to spend quality time with my mom.
Thank you always, Mom, for looking after me!
223
ENDNOTES
1. Yost M. (Feb. 1, 1986). Indictment Linked to Luck,
Columbus Dispatch.
1. Websters New World Dictionary, Third College Edition.
2. Siegel J. (April 2, 2009). Three freed by DNA tests push
reform, Columbus Dispatch.

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Walter has used his platform, a local radio show, to inspire hope

in our City and to point young people in the right direction.

Walter addressed sexual purity, drug use, attitude, alcohol,

Copyright 2015 by Walter D. Smith

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

Request for permission to reproduce selections from this book

Second Trade Paperback Printing May 2016

Prologue: Hood Beginning

be Black, White, Red, Blue, Yellow, Purple, or Green. Just read!

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Chapter 1: Wake-Up Call

Dad served eight years in the Korean War. He lost a brother,

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

I wanted to be just like my father. I was always trying to fix

Chapter 1: Wake-Up Call

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

draft pick. To this day, that assembly remains etched in my mind.

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

In a new place with new faces, the change and atmosphere

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Ramsey Munn and I really hit it off. Tony Young, Kevin

basketball team, we had to be on the cross-country team. We went

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

My cousins sold weed. Watching them rake in the dough, it

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Mom said, No he aint.

3: FROM THE HOOD

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Chapter 3: From the Hood

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Columbus, Ohio. My uncle and grandmother covered most of

Chapter 3: From the Hood

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

(Boston). It was truly a blessing to have been a student under Rev.

Chapter 3: From the Hood

working out and competing. I placed second in my first major

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Chapter 3: From the Hood

I didnt get to this point by chance. I worked hard and smart to

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Eventually we met and discussed working together. His new

Chapter 3: From the Hood

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

have to know all of my own lines and Jesus biblical quotations

Chapter 3: From the Hood

Soon after, Dea and I started dating. Extremely beautiful, she

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Chapter 3: From the Hood

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

become addicted, and he knew it, so he gave me his entire stock of

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Okay, Grandma. Ill ride it down next year. She then

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Grandma stressed how important it was for me to work hard.

Never will I forget that special time I spent with my

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

5: COCAINE AND BODYBUILDING

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

Chapter 5: Cocaine and Bodybuilding

Street Soldier: From the Hood to the Good

middleweight class. Youre looking really good, man. Its time

Chapter 5: Cocaine and Bodybuilding