DOWN THROUGH AND OUT OF THE VALLEY

    On an early fall evening in 2022, I was sitting in the corner of the backroom of indoor

recreation, catching up with my friend Mike, the drone of the overhead air vent creating a

sound shield around us, or so I thought. I must have made a passing reference to a college

memory to him, one I have now forgotten. As we packed up to leave, a man, bespectacled in

dark rims and moving with the aid of a walker, approached me. He said “Excuse me, I overheard

you mention you were in college. I'm looking for someone to help me with a final project I have

to write.” Upon entering prison, I had promised myself to help others with the skills I have as a

former English teacher; I agreed immediately. That chance encounter began a collaboration and

friendship with Donnell Harris, a man with a radiating smile, a talent for storytelling, and a drive

for self-improvement. As I've helped him with his G.O.G.I. project and listen to his story, I

recognize a man who has walked down and through the valley of addiction, violence, long term

incarceration, and trauma; but who has journeyed up and out of the shimmering mountain top

of sobriety, responsibility, and integrity.

    Although a self-described Washingtonian, Charles ”Donnell” Harris came into the world north

of the capital city at the naval hospital in Bethesda Maryland. on August 6th, 1965. With his

father Charles Harris active in the Navy, it was a logical location for his mother Carolyn Glover

to deliver. While sharing the first same name with his father, Donnell insists, "I am not a junior;

Donnell is just what I've gone by my whole life.” Donnell’s father also grew up in D.C., with two

brothers and a sister, a legacy of magnanimity towards others traces from Donnell back to his

grandmother who took in other relations with ”nowhere to go.” And raise them as her own.

Early in his life, Carolyn split with Charles, leaving him to raise Donnell and Donnell’s sister

Dornessa.

    Some years later, Charles met Christa Winchester, who hailed from Germany. Recognizing that

Donnell and Dornessa needed a positive influence, Charles soon married Christa, and their

newly forged family moved to a new neighborhood to give Dornessa, who was more

academically inclined, the chance to attend better schools. As one of the few white kids in the

neighborhood, Julie, Donell’s new half-sister was sometimes picked on, and Donnell would stick

up for her. In an interview, Dornessa also attests to Donnell’s “Big Brother Bear” role.

When asked about memories of Donnell that bring her joy, she chuckled and said, “When he

beat this bully in the 4th grade for me.” Donnell remembers a childhood built with family

reunions, Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings, and the tradition of going to the Chesapeake

Seafood House to celebrate elementary school graduations. This neighborhood was a block of

two parent, middle class households surrounded by a sea of poor single parent families living in

row houses. These neighborhoods had names like Clay Terrace, Lincoln Heights and Kinnelworth.

Just as his mother took in kids in need, Charles became a father figure to many with that void.

As Donnell states” My father was the neighborhood dad.” On excursions to Lake Fairfax, a place

with water so pure you could drink from it, Charles invited and took everyone on the block. The

Harris’s became the local hangout, but with Charles working two jobs to support a middle-class

lifestyle, kids were often unsupervised. During these times, Donnell was sexually abused by

other kids in the neighborhood. To escape the continued abuse he kept hidden from his

parents, Donnell started to ride his bike to more crime ridden areas and hung out with other

kids already selling drugs.

    As a student, Donnell recalls doing OK until third grade when a learning disability began to

impact his academic performance. He became the class clown to gain attention from his

classmates and his teacher Ms. Sanders who, despite his struggles, told Donnell he could do the

work and succeed if he wanted. Despite this encouragement, Donnell continued to focus on

comedic antics in the classroom while his academics plateaued. He was kept back at the end of

4th grade. He transformed from a class clown to a class bully, his physical stature towering over

many classmates a year younger. This behavior led to Charles being summoned to school.

Donnell recalls, “He whooped me in front of the whole class.”

    As his school situation destabilized, Donnell faced struggles at home, too. By this time, Charles

and Christa divorced, with Donnell living with his dad. Both Charles mother and new girlfriend

had personal and medical problems, and with his giving nature, he missed work shifts to help

them out. Eventually, he lost both of his jobs as an elevator operator and a mass transit worker.

Looking for a way to support his sons and daughter, Charles followed his brothers and began

hustling drugs. Donnell also had his first encounter with the law, stemming from a profession of

young love. A new school had just opened up, and he decided to christen it by spray painting

the name of a girl his 11 year old self had a crush on. The time spent at his own school started

to wane. In the morning his dad would see Donnell off, but soon after getting to school, Donnell

would leave and make his way across town to hang with the kids he had met while fleeing the

abuse in his neighborhood. Around the YMCA, they spent their days dealing drugs. It was also

there where Donnell first encountered guys using violence to address issues. As Donnell states

“I never saw my dad nor my uncle use violence; they just argued; my family was a family of

peace.” With this new group, though, they would track down and beat up drug addicts who ran

off with the product and didn't pay. Donnell’s young brain equated using violence with earning

respect, something he hungered for.

    Eventually, Charles discovered Donnell’s truancy and gave him the ultimatum: stay in school or

go to work. Donnell chose school at first. There were teachers in junior high who believed in

him like Ms. Glover who made math appealing. Eventually, the combination of his learning

disability, negative peer pressure, and a lack of supervision at home led to Donnell dropping out

in 7th grade. He picked up jobs as a paperboy and as a construction worker at a company

operated by a family friend.

    Around the time he dropped out, Donnell started to smoke marijuana. Locating his father's

stash, he invited his friend Leonard over to toke up with him in his backyard clubhouse.

Leonard's mom soon discovered their not so child's play and confronted Charles, who told her,

“I’ll handle it.” He took both boys out to dinner one night and questioned them about their

smoking and ask what else they wanted. On the way home they stopped at a liquor store and

picked up a bottle of Hennessey and a case of Blue Bull beer. His only stipulation to Donnell and

Leonard was “drink and smoke in my basement so I know you're safe.” reflecting back on his

dad's choice, Donnel notes that having access to weed and alcohol under adult supervision that

early on made them less appealing soon, and as an adult, he seldom drank or smoked. His sister

Dornessa has a different perspective. When asked what factors led Donnell down the path of

addiction and violence, she responded quickly, “a lack of parenting, a lack of structure.”

    At 15, Donnel had two major events happen. First, he became a father too Shamika whose

mom was three years his senior. Second, he was arrested on his 15th birthday for driving

without a license and put on probation. With this newly added charge to his rap sheets, his

mother Carolyn gained custody of him. She had much stricter house rules than Charles. Used to

total freedom, Donnell did not obey, causing her to break down and cry. A violation of his

probation soon landed Donnell at Oak Hill, a juvenile facility. Carolyn visited him there, bringing

him food. With his giving nature, Donnell shared it with others including a kid named Kenneth

Inouye. One day, Donnell noticed that his package of cookies was missing. After searching

around, he discovered Kenneth had taken them without asking. This led to Donnell busting

Kenneth ‘s head with a mop in the shower, continuing the use of violence with conflict. Once

released from Oak Hill, Donnell continued dealing drugs. One day, he discovered one kid had

taken some of the drugs he had stowed, a sign of disrespect for Donnell. Just like with Kenneth,

he confronted the boy about the theft, but this time Donnell didn't have a mop; he had a gun.

After a quick escalation, Donnell shot him and fled.

    Donnell’s uncle convinced Charles to send him down to Wilmington, North Carolina to live with

a friend's family until the heat from the shooting cooled off. His uncle’s friend owned several

clubs in the area, and each named for a car like Monte Carlo, the Continental, and the Grand

Prix. also owned several rental properties. While he became friends with a guy named Porky,

Donnell, coming from a big city up north, differed from the more rural southern kids. They

called him “fizz” a pejorative term in D.C. meaning effeminate or gay. Initially insulted, Donnell

eventually found out that “fizz” down South meant “having style”, something he prided himself

in. He bonded with a girl called “Spider” who, like him, was an outside transplant from New

Jersey. As Donnell says, Spider “owned her name with her look.” Their budding romance was

cut short when a family friend, Cynthia, came down to Wilmington, and after getting

permission from Charles, Donnell rode back to D.C. after a three month stay.

    After returning though, he was arrested for drugs and went back to Oak Hill. Soon Donnell was

charged as an adult with the death of the boy he had shot. He was transferred to the D.C. jail

and place in a juvenile tier, a bloc of five cells cased in glass overlooking the adult blocs. Donnell

wore a pair of Ponys, highly coveted shoes around 1980. One day he discovered they were

missing. After searching around, Donnell spotted them on the feet of a guy named Curtis

Robinson. C.R. denied taking Donnell’s pair. As in past situations, tensions escalated, with

Donnell brawling with C.R. and two others. Outmanned, Donnell took the brunt of the punches

and kicks but remembers biting down hard on C.R., leaving a lasting reminder not to thieve a

guy’s kicks. Staff placed Donnell in protective custody for safety. Calling home, he found out his

dad was down in Texas to watch the Super Bowl, but Charles’s friend Phil called “rap around”, a

bondsman in the DC underworld, posted Donnell’s bail. Later, due to a lack of sufficient

evidence, the prosecution dropped the murder charges.

    Donnell continued his life of drug trafficking and violence in his teens, racking up distribution

and assault charges. These dark clouds build up to another shooting. Donnell had stashed drugs

on a friend's property, and it came up missing. Donnell accused Eddie, the property owner, of

taking the stash. Eddie pulled a pistol on Donnell who retrieved his 12-gauge shotgun. The

situation verbally escalated with each pointing their weapons at each other like a high noon

showdown. Expecting Eddie was going to shoot, Donnell fired in Eddie’s direction, hit him, and

fled the scene. Two months passed, Eddie survived, and it seemed Donnell would evade

charges.

    

    August 2nd, 1984, a Sunday, is a day that lives in infamy for Donnell. It would be his last day of

freedom for almost two decades. It was his girlfriend Sheila’s birthday. His 19th was four days

away. Halfway between, on the 4th they decided to have a joint bash. Donnell and the perfect

day: jewelry for Sheila, matching his and her outfits, and a reserved space at the Metro Club.

while driving around doing errands with the big event, he noticed several missed calls on his

pager. He called back and found out the police had burst into his father's place, arresting him

on drug charges as well as his lady friends with him, Maxine and Debra. Donnell called “Rap

Around” to bond out the three. Before retrieving them from jail, Donnell was intent on finishing

his errands. He picked up steak and cheese sandwiches and a birthday cake from the caterers.

He vividly remembers it was more in the style of a wedding cake a positive omen for his life

ahead. He arrived at the jail ready to take Charles home. When he told the jail staff his dad's

name, they asked what his was. He replied, I’m Charles Donnell Harris” with that cue, law

enforcement swarmed around him, stating that he had an arrest warrant. Charles, Maxine, and

Debra, went home; Donnell stayed, placed in preventative detention. Initially facing three life

sentences and an 18 year charge, a judge gave Donnell a 30 year stint. 19 year old Donnell

would be spending most of his adult life away from the vibrant world he knew.

    19 year old Donnell began serving his lengthy sentence in Lorton prison, a D. C. facility with a

notorious reputation. He was shocked to see that guys lived mostly the same way he did on the

streets, the difference being not leaving at the end of the day. Guys donned the latest street

gear, had outside food and drugs brought in, and had women come for conjugal visits. In an

environment with easy access to anything desired and toxic influences omnipresent, Donnell’s

pattern of drug trafficking and violence continued. It was at Lorton where he started to snort

heroin as well. There were opportunities for men at Lorton to grow, to learn, and to lift others

up. The prison had culinary arts, barbering, dental, dog training, and manufacturing jobs

programs. One could take classes via the university of District of Columbia. Lorton had a

chapter of the NAACP, religious services that outside family could attend and an annual

Thanksgiving banquet and canned food drive. Still the magnetic pole of vices propelled young

Donnell down a darker path. Soon after arrival, he stabbed another man. He survived, and

Donnell received an additional 10 year sentence. A few years later, Donnell was transferred into

the Federal Bureau of Prisons along with the majority of D.C. inmates. He went halfway across

the country to El Reno in Oklahoma.

    A change in venue did not change Donnell’s destructive thinking and behavior patterns though.

Another conflict led to another stabbing. With his history of violence, Donnell was facing life

without parole; however, “by the grace of God, those charges were dropped,” he states. The

incident did send him to Lewisburg, a U.S, penitentiary, the “Big House.” Although a higher

security level, Lewisburg surrounded Donnell with a different, higher caliber of men ones who

pushed others to better themselves. One of these was Johnny B. who encouraged Donnell to

take GED classes seriously and work at UNICOR prison industries. While resistant at first,

Donnell started to apply himself in classes and earned a decent monthly pay to support himself.

    He received not only his GED, but was a few classes away from attaining an Associates in

Business Administration from Park College, garnering a 3.2 GPA. These changes, along with a

clean disciplinary record, led the parole board at Lewisburg to grant Donnell off from an end of

sentence in 1992. Around this time, D.C. Inmates in the B.O.P.returned to Lorton.

A few days before leaving for Lorton, though, Donnell received crushing news. His mother

Carolyn had passed away. She made the trip to Lewisburg to visit several times. At the end of

her last one, Donnell remembers her looking directly at him saying, “I love you son; I will see

you soon.” Devastated, he turned to, Boy Big, A Christian mentor, who told him to” just think of

her and she will come to you. That night Donnell had a vivid dream. He was transported back

to his youth, walking down the streets of D.C. Carolyn appeared in front of him, hands on hips,

scolding, “why aren't you in school?” Donnell woke up in his cot this smell of Dax, the hair

grease Carolyn had used, filled his nostrils. Boy Big had been right. When he arrived back in

D.C. staff allowed Donnell to go to his mother's visitation to view her body. It was then,

standing in front of her coffin and gazing down, he noticed they shared a mole in the same spot

on their hands. “Spending time with her that last time helped to bring me closure,” Donnell

reflects the pain returning to Lorton, Donnell that while still a rough spot, it's “anything goes”

culture of his first stint had been tamped down by the staff. In 1994, he was paroled from his

initial 30 year sentence but still had a 120 month assault sentence, handed down a year prior,

to serve.

    Still designated as a high security level, Donnell Spent time at the U. S. Penitentiary in Lompoc

California and Terre Haute Indiana where he stayed busy working at UNICOR. His security level

lowered, allowing him to transfer to FCI Jessup, a medium level facility in Georgia. Just like his

time spent as a teen in North Carolina, Donnell notice that the rural southerners had a more

laid back and softer attitude than his urban self was used to. The prison dynamics changed

when a bus from Lorton arrived at Jessup. Guys who were quiet, weak, and victimized before

Lorton became loud, aggressive, and controlling after Jessup. As the tables turned, Donnell

tried to deescalate tensions between the D.C.ers and the southerners.

    While brokering the peace, Donnell came under the lens of the staff who labeled him “a shot

caller” or gang leader. They shipped him out to Talladega, Alabama. The shadow of his violent

past lingered on Donnell’s rap sheet, and the captain at Talladega grilled him about his past

stabbing. When Donnell refused to talk about the incident, the captain wanted him off the

compound. Donnell Finally landed at USP Coleman in Florida where he finished his assault

sentence in 2003.

    The world had changed in the nearly two decades since the 19 year old Donnell had entered the

belly of the beast “mass incarceration”. Now nearing 40, he traveled on a bus back to D.C.  He

remembers stopping in a small town for a break at a gas station. He spotted a drugstore across

the street and went to buy a teddy bear for his sister Dornessa for when they reunited. As he

walked down the aisles, he could sense the stares of other shoppers. He was a foreigner, a

stranger to be cautious of in their eyes. Upon arriving at the halfway house in D.C., his family

brought him necessities, including body wash, something unavailable in prison. Assuming it was

a lotion, Donnell rubbed it into his skin without washing it off. He smelled like fruit and flowers

for days.

During Donnell’s time locked up, Charles had changed for the better. After serving a nine-

month sentence in D.C. jail for drugs in the mid 1980’s, he gave up his criminal life. He worked

both as a mechanic in a partnership and a driver for a towing business called Youngin’s.

Donnell remembers Charles’ house being the gathering place for extended family on

weekends when he returned home. Food and dancing fill the rooms and yard. Charles passed

away within two years of Donnell’s return to D.C. Despite the flaws as a parent, Donnell

believes “He did the best he could and knew how to.”

    Donnell worked as a general laborer for a construction company upon release. Eventually he

became a supervisor at a group home working with teens removed from their homes due to

neglect. It was a job he found joy in. “I saw both sides of the kids, the rough and the kind. I

learned a lot from them.” He remembers taking them to the national zoo on Easter Monday, a

tradition in D.C. the kids loved getting to see animals from all over the world.

    To supplement his income, Donnell and a business partner started buying used cars at dealers’

auctions, fixing them, and selling them at a mark-up. This side business led him to meet Paul

Roach. Paul was looking to buy a car, and Donnell agreed to meet him at a bus station. When

Donnell arrived at the Trailway bus stop, he discovered Paul was homeless, draped in a blanket

to keep out the cold. Sticking with his giving nature, Donnell offered Paul his basement to move

into. Paul brought his belongings but also his drug addiction to Donnell’s home. While first

declining Paul’s offer of heroin, Donnell soon sank back into drug use. He describes himself at

first as a “weekend warrior”, able to separate his weekly work life from what he did in private.

Soon, those two lives collided. Donnell was on parole at both the D.C. And federal level. He

knew when his D.C. parole officer asked for a monthly urinalysis (U.A.) and planned his drug use

accordingly. His federal parole officer, though had never done a U.A. on him. Wanting to be

transparent and honest, Donnell asked his federal probation officer to travel to the Blue Marsh

Mountains in Pennsylvania. The officer pulled a surprise test on him, which came back positive,

Donnell was ordered to go to a methadone clinic for treatment.

    Instead of being surrounded by systems of accountability, Donnell met people at the clinic

experienced at "beating the system.” They taught him how to avoid positive U.A.’s and how to

avoid attending weekly Narc Anon support groups. Donnell continued snorting heroin at higher

doses while taking more methadone. The intended cure was a second poison. Donnell’s

addiction couldn't hide forever. Continuous positive U.A.’s led Donnell back to a few prison

stints.

    As he was entangled with addiction and parole violations, Donnell moved from working at a

group home to driving delivery for Keystone Autoparts. He traveled to Maryland, Virginia,

Pennsylvania, and Ohio, transporting automotive accessories to mechanic and body shops.

After a short stint there, Donnell went into business with his friend and one time crime partner

Jeffrey Akers in 2006. Jeffrey had come off his prison stint and committed himself to change.

Both he and Donnell had their commercial driver licenses (CDL’s) and together they financed

buying two tractors and started HKA Transportation., honoring Jeffrey’s brother, Haywood K.

Akers, who had been murdered. Jeffrey stuck by Donnell through his brief prison stints for dirty

U.A.’s. the business slowly expanded and by 2015, Donnell and Jeffrey had a steady flow of

work hauling trash, dirt, and asphalt around the D.C. area. Donnel describes Jeffrey as a “true

mentor.”

    

    Even in the tempest of addiction, Donnell still focused on family. His brother Dominic lost

custody of his sons Xavier and Dominic Jr. and Gerald because of his own drug hustling. Donnell

and Dominic’s aunt Tina received custody, and Donnell stepped in as a father figure for his

nephews, much like his own dad had done for many. He went to their sporting events, helped

them financially, and gave advice when he could. Dornessa attests to this saying, “he was great

with our nephews; he took the time and energy to be a positive presence.” When Gerald acted

up in school, Donnell told his teacher to call and he'd be up at school quickly to back her up.

Donnell also took his nephews to church services on Sunday. One church, Mt. Olive, was led by

Rev. Green, a former chaplain at the D. C. jail who had led Bible study that Donnell had

attended.  Donnel also supported his girlfriend and her son Dante. He went to their sporting events and his

daughter Shamika’s sons’ as well. The Reentry Action Committee of D.C. named him Returning

Citizen in 2015.

    Donnell continued to buy and sell cars as a side hustle. With his trucking business, family

involvement, and continued and heightened drug use he was overextending himself, though.

He sold one car to a man named Marcus Shrivner, who went by “Nico”. In his home drug haze,

Nico misplaced the car's title and went to Donnell to ask what he should do. Donnell told him

he could give the car back and be refunded the payments he'd already made, or he could get a

mechanics lien for a couple hundred dollars which would give it a clean title. Rhe dispute over

the car continued with Marcus accusing Donnell of lying to him and refusing to pay anymore.

Tensions escalated and Donnell chose to return to violence as a solution. One day, he

approached Nico out on a park and stabbed him. Nico staggered to a store and called 911. a

lady in the neighborhood told Donnell to run. After a trip to the ER, Marcus recovered and told

people he'd handle Donnell personally instead of filing charges. Donnell went on with his life,

driving trucking for his business. A month after the stabbing, Nico resurfaced and went to the

authorities to file a report.

    November 19th, 2015 is another day etched in Donnell’s mind. It was raining that day, and

Donnell look it off from driving truck. With Thanksgiving approaching, he gave his sister

Dornessa money that morning to help pay for a lavish meal he always looked forward to. He

had just snorted heroin when he heard a knock at his door, a sound tolling the end of freedom.

The police swarmed in and arrested Donnell for assault with a deadly weapon and took him to

the D.C. jail. Even with the charge, there was speculation that Nico wouldn't show up for the

trial since he had taken money for victim relocation. He did though, and Donnell received 140

months for D.C. parole violation and 54 months for assault with a deadly weapon.

    It wasn't the loss of his freedom that was Donnell’s “rock bottom” though; it was the loss of the

family home his parents purchased in 1970. The house that had been a haven for neighborhood

kids and weekend gathering place for family was foreclosed on. Homeownership was a point of

immense pride for Charles. In his book “The Color of Law” by Richard Rothstein explains that in

2016, whites had $140,000 in wealth blacks in America had 10,000 dollars. Much wealth stems

from real estate equity, often passed down intergenerationally. Charles bought the house for

$17,000 in 1970 in 2015 it was valued at $400,000. Charles had spent time and resources

replacing and remodeling the roof, bathroom, and kitchen before he died, he dreamed of

putting in a spiral staircase. He also dreamed of buying the house next door and connecting the

two. Donnell had the same dream. D.C. had a program nicknamed” Clean it and Lien it” were

people could purchase foreclosed and dilapidated properties at a reduced price if they cleaned

it up and paid liens on the deed. Donnell had started cleaning the neighboring lot and estimates

he could have purchased a house for $30,000. The effects of addiction and his violent choices

ended that dream. With Dornessa having unexpected medical bills and Donnell having legal

problems, the existing homes mortgage went unpaid too. No one else in the family would step

up to pay and keep Charles’ dream of homeownership alive. With the foreclosure, the promise

of intergenerational wealth disappeared but more importantly a sense of family unity. Donnell

states “I felt less than the son I was supposed to be.” With the lost home in a broken family,

Donnell decided to never use again. He stuck to that decision 6 1/2 years later.

    After being sentenced to 194 months total for violating his parole and assault with a deadly

weapon, Donnell was sent north from D.C. to Pennsylvania, first to USP Coleman. Briefly for a

medical evaluation, then to USP Allenwood. There, Donnell became involved with working for

UNICOR and taking computer courses. A few years into his sentence, in 2018, he started to feel

a shortness of breath and chest pain occasionally. Donnell at first took Tylenol to manage the

symptoms and pain, but that was a Band-Aid for a deeper issue. One night, he started to feel his

pulse accelerating and his breath turning into a deep panting. His heart pounded against his

chest like a SWAT team breaking in, turn into 187 beats per minute. With no other options, The

ER staff stopped Donnell’s heart. He was brought back to life, his heart returning to a steady

pace. Following a dozen day ICU stint, Donnell was given an external life vest to regulate his

heart and antibiotics to combat sepsis in his left foot. He spent five more weeks in recovery at

the hospital.

    His heart stabilized, and a healthier Donnell returned to Allenwood. One day, Donnell, looking

through the inmate shoppers guide for pen pals and college courses, had an ad that caught his

eye. The letters G.O G.I. appeared in bold, and underneath, it offered a chance to change your

life trajectory. Intrigued, Donnell wrote to them, they wrote back, and he enrolled.

A veteran of prison “programming”, Donnell noticed differences in G.O.G.I. ‘s approach to

curriculum immediately. As he explains, ”most programming attempting to change thinking and

behavior of inmates comes from an authoritative point of view.” They’re the experts, the

psychologist, social workers, and therapists; it's your job to listen and learn. Founded around

2000 in California, G.O.G.I. “Getting Out by Going In”, was designed by prisoners for prisoners.

The curriculum is grounded in cognitive behavioral techniques that have participants analyze

thinking patterns that led to their destructive choices and develop behaviors to address

stressors and conflict proactively.

    G.O.G.I. has individual written reflection assignments and weekly group meetings, both

focusing on 12 tools like “Boss of My Brain”, “Belly Breathing”, “What If”. And the “Five Second

Light Switch”. G.O.G.I. relates to participants’ lived experiences; however, instead of using past

traumas as excuses for negative choices, G.O.G. I. Empowers participants to take charge of their

life’s course. “We use things as excuses”, Donnell comments. The G.O.G.I. Tools have helped

him from relapsing in prison. Drug use is present in correctional institutions, including Fed Med.

K2 marijuana, hooch, and even meth are readily available if you know whom to ask. Despite this

accessibility, Donnell believes that being incarcerated kept him from total destruction. Guys

from his past like Paul Roach and Marcus Shrivner have died from overdosing. “If I had stayed

out, I truly believe I wouldn't be alive”.

    G.O.G.I. has helped Donnell recognize the ripples of harm his addiction and violent behavior has

had on the people and communities around him. He hurt his mother as a teenager by causing

her to worry about his whereabouts; his drug use and incarceration forced her to take on more

financial burdens by sending him money in prison and taking care of his son and daughter. His

daughter Shamika was five when he began his 19 year stint. Before his incarceration, he had

taken her to school on his motorcycle or an open house to meet her teacher. She sat in front of

him on the gas tank, and he instructed her to turn left and right on the trip as he guided the

handles. Once at school, she proudly told her teacher,” I drove my daddy and me here.” More

happy memories with her dad ended with his incarceration. She ended up spending some of

her youth in foster care in his absence. His son Dominiq refused to bring his son to see his

grandfather in prison, telling Donnell, “He will not go through the anguish I felt at the end of

every visitation with you.”

    When interviewed, Donnell’s sister Dornessa shared how Donnell’s addiction impacted her.” At

first, I didn't know about his substance abuse because he hid it well, but eventually, he stole

from me to pay for drugs and brought over people to my house to use. He used me in the

process. When he's off drugs, my brother’s great. On them, he's a different person.”

Off of drugs, he was an asset to his community. He helped youth at the group home and

operated a business that improved it. On drugs, he caused ruin through violence and hustling. I

only know the sober Donnell, the clear minded one who exudes warmth, confidence, empathy,

and positivity. I know the Donnell with a beaming smile. I know Donnell All with open ears and

heart and commits random acts of kindness like handing out hard candy and writing notes of

thanks. Addiction brings out the Mr. Hyde’s in many.

    While still at Allenwood in 2019, Donnell was making his way between buildings during an open

movement period. While walking on an uneven section of sidewalk, Donnell tripped and broke

his right foot. Almost a year prior, a man named Arthur Smith fell in the same spot and

sustained similar injuries. Between the two incidents, multiple other men fell, yet the prison

failed to fix the sidewalk. Donnell’s broken foot led to other problems including wear on his

knee. He filed a civil lawsuit against the prison arguing they were culpable for not fixing the

stretch of sidewalk. The case is currently making its way through the courts.

    On August 8th 2022 Donnell arrived here, the Medical Center for Federal Prisoners in

Springfield. His security points low enough to transfer from a U.S. penitentiary. One anecdote

shows the difference in institutional culture between Allenwood and Springfield. One of his first

days here, Donnell got on an elevator with a female nurse who said ”Good Morning.”

In a USP, It is understood that you're not supposed to speak with female staff members, let

alone look at them directly. Still with this mindset, Donnell did not respond. After a brief

silence, the nurse reiterated “I said good morning to you, sir.  Donnell then responded with his

typical cheerful tone with a good morning. It was just one example of how Fed Med has a softer

atmosphere than many other facilities. Donnell also mentioned that seeing a menagerie of

retrievers, labs, and poodles in the dog companion training program making their way down

the halls and out on the yard brings a smile to his face.

    Since arriving here, Donnell has continued his G.O.G.I. courses aiming to become a certified

coach with the program. In January 2023 he started a peer group on his unit. Each week, they

meet to discuss one of the dozen tools of the program. Donnell has been impressed with how

his peers have embraced making positive changes to their thinking and behavior. The staff have

noticed, too. Recently, the captain commented to Donnell that he's seen a reduction in incident

reports on Donnell’s unit this year and to keep up the program. Donnell always stays involved

by volunteering teaching CDL classes, attending a writing group, going through Chapel services

on Sundays, and working as a suicide companion.

    At the latest, he will return back to D.C. In 2027 at the age of 62. Instead of being passive

though, Donnell wants to be an asset to his community after years of causing harm. His

culminating G.O.G.I. Project involves developing a curriculum that D.C. youth, non-profits, and

mentors can use with middle school youth. Middle school, particularly 6th grade, is when kids

start to make poor choices that can change life’s trajectory. Reflecting on his own path to drug

use and violence, Donnell says “If I would have had a G.O.G.I. Mentor early on, I think I would

have managed my emotions better, stayed in school, and made positive choices.” Like Holden

Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye, Donnell dreams of stopping youth from falling into the void of

addiction, crime, and incarceration.

    Donnell believes in the power of community to mold its youth for good or ill. “I believe it takes

a village to raise a child, but the village is burning.” He sees families not taking time to eat

dinner together. Worse though, he knows that parents who use drugs are engaged in other

harmful behavior in front of their children. Other systemic problems like a lack of affordable

housing, quality health care, child care, and living wages also contribute to shaky foundations

for youth to grow.

    Donnell believes other early intervention besides juvenile hall would be more effective. His own

time at D.C. juvenile facility, Oak Hill, surrounded him with more deleterious influences then

uplifting ones.” If they (kids) don’t like school, find out why. Give youth responsibilities to make

them feel empowered.” A month ago, he read a story in the Washington Post about an 11-year

old rapper in D.C. who goes by Fly-Zyah. She used her voice to speak of the problems youth are

facing in the inner strengths they possess. Donnell would like to partner with youth like her to

promote the G.O.G. I. amongst the D.C. youth.

    To gather research for his final G.O.G.I. project and to build potential partnerships, Donnell is

reaching out to community leaders in D.C. he wants their insight about the challenges you face,

current programs addressing those challenges, and G.O.G.I.’s Potential fit as part of the

solution. One leader Donnell’s reached out to is Chris Turner. Sentenced along with seven other

youths for a 1984 murder in Washington D.C., Chris spent 25 years in prison. All 8 maintain

their innocence. They claim one of their confessions and eyewitness accounts or were coerced

by police; in addition, the prosecution withheld exculpatory evidence from the defense during

the trial. The surviving seven are all released from prison and are seeking exoneration. Instead

of letting bitterness consume him, Chris, upon release became an asset and advocate for youth,

the elderly, the unhoused, and the formerly incarcerated. He recently wrote a book,” When

Innocence Isn’t Enough”, and currently partners with national organizations on criminal justice

reform. It is people like Chris that Donnell considers mentors and hopes to emulate.

    When asked what he wished the general public knew about incarceration, he stated,” people

have the notion that incarceration prepares you for life after, that rehabilitates; it doesn't.”

Donnell believes in being accountable for his actions, spending his late teens and early 20s in a

place like Lorton, where drugs flowed freely and negative role models abounded, didn't help

Donnell grow. Upon release from his first stint in prison, a psychologist diagnosed him with

antisocial personality disorder attributed to long term incarceration at an early age. One could

infer that Donnell isn’t alone; thousands of young men are placed in closed environments with

older men who manipulate, intimidate, coerce and assault to get what they want. At U.S.

Penitentiaries, you are forced to join up with groups for survival. You are in a constant state of

vigilance and heightened awareness or potential threats. Transitioning to civilian life and

learning to trust is a challenge after spending decades in such a milieu.

    After completing his G.O.G.I. certification, Donnell wants to continue to expand his knowledge

and skills base by taking child growth and development courses. in July of 2023, incarcerated

persons became eligible again for Federal Pell Grants after a decades long hiatus. Donnell wants

to apply to finance his studies. He believes learning about how children develop cognitively,

emotionally, and socially over time will aid him in developing G.O.G.I. programs for

D.C. youth. His sister Dornessa, who has a couple masters degrees including an MBA, applauds

his educational pursuits.” When he's taking classes, he is focused and motivated and uses his

immense energy toward positive pursuits.”

    Besides implementing G.O.G.I. Tools curriculum for D.C. Youth and serving as a mentor, Donnell

wants to rebuild relationships with family members and mend ties severed over decades.

One dream he has is to purchase Charles’ house if it ever comes back on the market. For him it

will be an ultimate restoration to the harm he caused. Charles’ dream would rise from the

ashes.

    When asked about what mantras inspire him in tough times, Donnell responded “Don’t pay

attention to the man who's failed; pay attention to the man who’s overcome those failures.”

He also added, “don't let your failures define you.” In his journey out of the valley of past

failures, Donnell focuses on the present; he focuses on where his current daily habits will lead

him, one step at a time on a path of positivity.