Andre Norman - Ambassador of Hope: Turning Poverty and Prison into a Purpose-Driven Life

I was being held at MCI - Walpole , a maximum - security prison in Massachusetts, having just been transferred there from federal prison a few months before. I had been in federal custody for two - and - a - half years because, quite simply, the state of Massachusetts couldnt control me. I was too much to deal with. So, they sent me to federal prison in the hopes that I would perishthat Id be raped, killed, or both.

Instead, I dominated the federal system. I committed too many violent acts to name or count and was kicked out of nine different states. Eventually, the federal system threw their hands up and sent me back to Massachusetts.

Returning there was the equivalent of sending a college kid to middle school. I was so far ahead of everyonemainly the staffin terms of what it took for me to run that prison. It was almost unfair. It certainly wasnt fair for the other inmates. The minute I came back, I put my gang together and we took overthe drugs, the extortion, the prison wine, the gamblingall of it. I rolled with my crew. Wherever I went, they went. Whatever I told them to do, they did. Everyone knew it. It was no secret.

Coming back to Massachusetts, I had no property of any kind, so I went on a robbery spree. I beat down ten different prisoners and took everything they had. That landed me a stint in what was called solitary confinement, which was a shock to me. When I had been in Walpole three years prior, nobody cared if a prisoner got beaten or robbedif someone couldnt hold onto their own belongings, then they didnt deserve to have them. Turns out the game had changed. The then - associate warden pulled me into his office and explained it to me. Because I didnt know the new rules, he let me back into general population with the other prisoners.

Some few days later, I found myself sitting in my cell on a Saturday afternoon, bored and hungry. I decided I would go get something to eat.

I walked out of my cell. I walked down to the gate and I gave the correctional officer (CO) a nod. He opened the gateI had no passand I walked down the hallway to yet another gate. I gave the guard there the same nod as the CO as I walked right past him. Then I walked past two more gates to get to central control, all with no one stopping me.

Central control was essentially a bubble encased in glass and steel. It held computers and camera banks so the guards could monitor everything within the prison walls. From there, they control any and all doors in the prison, especially to places like the kitchen where they didnt want troublemakersparticularly prisoners like meto get ahold of knives or spices or anything else that can be used to hurt someone.

Another head nod to a guard in central control got me past the gate toward the kitchen. No one was allowed in the kitchen itself who isnt on staff at the prison, and there was a large steel door with a small slot to look through if someone is on the other side. I banged on the door and the CO guarding the kitchen slid the slot open and saw it was me.

He opened the door.

Everyone in the kitchen gave me some form of salute, because the bossmewas there. I told one of the cooks to make a burger, fries, and a milkshake for me. I stood back and watched while everyone stopped what they were doing to clear space on the grill to make my food.

Thats when some guy in a white coat stepped to me.

Who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen? he asked me. Youre not even dressed properly. Where is your uniform?

I looked him square in the face and asked him, Who the fuck are you?

He commenced to screaming at me, Im the Food Services administrator, and Ive got this culinary degree, and Ive run that restaurant, and youre in my kitchen, and this isnt right . At that point, not only was I looking at him like hes crazy, but so was everyone else around him. Finally, he says, Im going to ask you againwho are you?

There was a songRegulate by Warren G. and Nate Doggthat was hot at the time, and for some reason, it popped into my head.

Im the regulator, I told him.

Is that right? he asked. And what do you regulate?

I regulate whether you go home or not, I said.

When I said it, the color drained out of his face and he asked me what I meant. I told him:

I could kill you on the spot and that would be that. If I do that, your wife and kids lose a husband and a father. Im not entertaining your trying to be loud. You aint tough like that, so lets not be tough. Lets talk like men.

He looked around the room and saw that no one was reacting to what Id saidthat Id threatened to kill him, and no one said a word. No one did anything.

After ten years of being locked up for killing you, I continued, theyll let me back into gen pop. Ill still be in prison, and youll still be dead. Then I will walk back into this same fucking kitchen, through that same damn door, and I will tell them to make me a hamburger, and thats just how its going to be. Theres really only one question: do I get my hamburger today, or do I get it in ten years? Im a patient man, so its your choice.

He stood there, paralyzed. Nothing in his training had ever prepared him for someone like me. Hed never encountered an inmate in full control, which is exactly what I was. The other inmates and staff looked at him like hed just smacked Mike Tyson and not one of them was going to help stop that ass whipping.

On his hip was his radio with an orange panic button. If he hit it, all the guards would come running and save him. I could see his mind spinning behind his eyes, making calculations. Could they get there before I killed him? Even if they saved him, then what? Hed have to deal with me the next day. While his hand hovered over that radio, I made calculations of my own. Then he made his decision.

He slowly walked over to that grill. He leaned over to the inmate making my burger and said:

Hey, John. Make him two.

Then he looked back at me and smiled. After that, he walked back into his office and sat down. I cant be sure, but Im willing to bet his next move was to call his wife, both of them asking themselves what kind of job hed gotten himself into. Meanwhile, I took my hamburgers, my fries, and my shake back to my cell, and I ate like a king.

Because thats what I was.

But what was I the king of?

I was surrounded by people who would do everything and anything I said. It didnt matter if they were prisoners or officers: my word was executed upon no matter what. I did whatever I wanted without fear of punishment, because even if punishment came, it only meant that I stayed longer in the kingdom I ruled.

Yet that food administrator who I threatened, whose life I held in my hands because of the power I had? At the end of the day, he got to walk out of those prison walls. He got to go through the big fence out front and go home to his familypeople that loved and cared about him. Even with my food cooked especially for me, surrounded by people who treated my word as law, I returned to my cell alone, never to know any other life but that one.