Secrets from a Prison Cell

A Convict’s Eyewitness Accounts of the Dehumanizing Drama of Life Behind Bars

Tony D. Vick, Michael T. McRay

• Publisher: Cascade Books
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN:
  9781498294331
  9781498294355
• eBook ISBN:
  9781498294348
• Topic: Law
• Subtopic: Criminal Law
• Index: Law

Tony Vick is serving two life sentences for murder. After nearly twenty years in prison, Tony has literally taken to the pen to document firsthand what life is like behind bars. This book--handwritten by Tony and later transcribed by outside friends--indirectly challenges the reader to engage prison reform as one of the most important social issues of this generation, wondering if society can shift its emphasis from retribution to rehabilitation. Tony's new book describes the violent, even horrific, incidents that occur in prison, incidents mostly hidden in the shadows, away from public awareness. It tells you the stories that those invested in incarceration would rather remain secret. As captivating as it is timely, Secrets from a Prison Cell shortens the distance between those outside and inside prison walls. Through personal stories, essays, and poetry, Tony Vick's book pulls back the curtain on a world invisible to most people, dramatically revealing the realities of life in prison and the power of love to fight dehumanization. For Tony, writing this book has never been about money but about the message. Any proceeds from sales of the book will be donated to the No Exceptions Prison Collective, a non-profit organization that advocates for prison reform. (https://noexceptions.net) No Exception's mission is furthered by its very name, referencing the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution that abolishes slavery, except for those incarcerated in our nation's prisons. Slavery still exists in America!

1

I Am Prisoner #276187

I am prisoner #276187, otherwise known as Tony Vick, a convicted double murderer, serving two well-deserved life sentences in the Tennessee Department of Correction. In 1993, I killed my first wife, the only girl I had ever dated, and in 1996, I killed my second wife, the only other woman I had ever dated. Both women were beautiful, wonderful, loving people who fell in love with the man I had created from lies and manipulations. You see, for thirty-four years of my life, I held a secret—I was gay.

Forty years ago, saying these words, “I am gay,” was not as easy as it is today. Being a good Southern Baptist meant that being homosexual would send you straight to hell, and I believed in hell. Most Sundays from the pulpit, the preacher painted vivid pictures of such a place of eternal torment. The religious folk said that God could cure any disease, and, to them, homosexuality was a disease of the mind. However, with enough faith, one could be set free from such a miserable curse. I prayed and prayed, repented and repented, asking God to take the wicked thoughts out of my mind. When he didn’t, I had to accept that I did not have enough faith to warrant such a miracle.

As a teenager, I finally sought the advice of a preacher. He told me that I needed to walk the walk and talk the talk of a heterosexual man, and that eventually my heart would catch up. He insisted that God was waiting for me to accept his miracle and live accordingly. So, I took a girl to my high school fall dance and eventually married her. Surely this would show God that I was serious about receiving his miracle.

The miracle didn’t come, and, close to my thirtieth birthday, the thought of living another day with my lies didn’t seem possible. Instead of telling the truth and facing the consequences, I chose a coward’s way and an illogical path by killing my wife. I had created such a web of deceit that I didn’t recognize myself. I felt lost, to God and to the world. God, I thought, could forgive anything, including murder, but could not tolerate or forgive homosexuality. Even though I had never acted out any of my fantasies of being with a man, the thoughts alone were forbidden sins that required God’s healing hands. My entire life became one big lie, and everything I said and did was formed out of an alternate reality.

After my wife’s death was ruled accidental, I thought surely this was a sign from God that he was trying to heal me. So, sometime later, I married my widowed neighbor, a friend, and was going to try again to walk the walk and talk the talk. I had to find the faith to be healed. I did not, and my marriage ended the same way—murder. Two women, their families, their friends, and their community were all devastated by my selfish, cowardly acts of lying, manipulating, and killing. There is no way to justify or rationalize my choices. They were all mine. I was convicted, and now I’m in prison where I deserve to be. Even this place, with all of its horrors, can’t punish me enough for my sins. Nor can it add any more grief or remorse to my heart than my own mind already has. Am I crazy? I don’t know. I’m just me, mixed up, confused, scared. The “why” of it all can’t be explained, at least not by me. The thirty-four years I lived in the Free World are valleys of time that I wish could be erased. But that’s not how life works; it is what it is, for better or for worse.

My first years in prison were spent barely existing, walking around like a zombie without any real emotion, trying not to feel anything—seemingly dead inside, unworthy of happiness, kindness, or life. I lacked the courage to kill myself. I had proven that by killing others instead. In that pit of despair is where I really found God, the same one who had been there all along. I had spent so much time trying to be what I heard man tell me to be that I failed to be quiet and listen—to be still. I didn’t hear an audible voice from the Almighty, nor did I have a burning bush moment where life’s secrets were revealed. What I did find was calmness, peace, and a slow realization that God loved me, just as I was. I found that his love and forgiveness were enough to cover all the evil I had done.

I believe God has forgiven me, but forgiving myself has been a more difficult process, one that perhaps will never be fully complete. The miracle of forgiveness seems so incredible that it’s hard to simply accept. But if I didn’t constantly remind myself that it’s possible, I would wither away at the bottom of a pit. I don’t expect forgiveness from my victims’ families, friends, or communities. The scars I left are likely too deep to ever heal. Scars were also left on my own family, who became victims themselves. My parents and brother have died since my incarceration, but, while alive, they suffered greatly as a result of my sins. And my precious son, just a young child when I entered prison and now a grown man, has spent his childhood, teenage years, and now his adulthood burdened with the sins of his father. My choices robbed so many people of their hopes, dreams, and, perhaps, a countless number of great things my victims might have achieved. Unforgiveable by human hearts. I understand.

I can’t cast blame on the church or the preachers for my crimes, nor can I blame my gayness. Many people have faced similar challenges and have not destroyed other lives in order to gain their own authenticity. All I have to blame are the dominoes of lies that I lined up beginning early in my life. I finally tipped one over, beginning a ripple effect of destruction. They fell hard and for a long time. All the dominoes have now stopped falling, but the tumbled masses of debris is left as a constant reminder of my deceit that created them and the forces that pushed that first domino over—all my actions.

But here I am, still alive, breathing, feeling, thinking. Unfair? Yes. Nonetheless, a reality. Prison forced me to drop my veil of deception. God gave his forgiveness, and now I’m left with the question, what to do? Prison is my community now, full of broken people and souls needing love and a voice. My hope is to share the experience of incarceration with a world that may be surprised at the true state of our prisons and the emotional trauma experienced inside the razor-wire fences.

Why is this important? Most inmates will get out of prison. Some will even be your neighbors. Some will be working for you or with you. Some will be serving you food at a restaurant. Some will be around your children. Some will be everywhere you go. So, it’s important that, while your tax dollars are funding their stints behind bars, inmates receive treatment, education, and other preparation to live successfully without re-victimizing the community in the Free World. One thing is for sure: you cannot put a tiger in a cage, throw him a crumb occasionally, keep him from human contact and love, continually poke him with a stick, and think that, when the cage is opened, he will become a house kitty.

I hope you will receive these essays and poems from the flawed creature that I am. I have attempted to paint a picture of prison for you to experience and interpret. Then, you can decide for yourself if you can comfortably hang this picture on the wall of your world. Or is it too disturbing?

I Was, I Am

I was an emotional dictator

tunnel visioned to see only my path

my needs, wants, pain, fear

I was a liar and a manipulator

truth simply a relative suggestion

using words to form a new reality

I was a masked queer hiding from the truth

dirty, an abomination, hell bound

I was a murderer

breaths of life taken by me

by me by me

I am a listener of life’s stories

quiet, reflective, open

I am a truth teller

it is what it is

not made up in a hopeful mind

I am gay and open to the world

not formed by man’s evil interpretation

but created by God’s hands

I am a sinner

forgiven by God

by God by God

I am prisoner #276187

2

I’m Hungry, Feed Me

Food is the ultimate equalizer. We cannot live without it, and most of us spend countless hours s...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Foreword
• Preface
• Acknowledgments
• Chapter 1: I Am Prisoner #276187
• Chapter 2: I’m Hungry, Feed Me
• Chapter 3: Cutting Through the Pain
• Chapter 4: Beyond the Living Room
• Chapter 5: The Art of Redemption
• Chapter 6: A Little Kindness
• Chapter 7: Sentenced To Death: By Old Age
• Chapter 8: Monsters Don’t Live Under the Bed
• Chapter 9: Buster
• Chapter 10: Is It Just This?
• Chapter 11: Wheelchairs, Walkers, and Wishes
• Chapter 12: Say No to Photoshopping
• Chapter 13: Hanging On in Tandem
• Chapter 14: It Is Possible
• About the Author—Tony D. Vick
• About the Author—Michael T. McRay
• Bibliography