This is my first attempt at writing for Stone City Blog. My name is Samuel Hawkins, 706212, and I have been incarcerated for 21+ years to date with a release date of 2019. My crime was Murder in the First Degree, which was a Drug Robbery, committed by myself and three other friends, when we were all between 16-19 years old.
Over the years that I have spent incarcerated I have been through many transitions, all of which have culminated in my present state of being.
I have hope, and a desire to be released from prison and do well for myself, but am still faced with the simple decisions of right and wrong, that especially in this environment cause me turmoil.
Anyways, I will begin this journey with my trip from the King County Jail on December 8, 1993 to the Washington Correction Center in Shelton…
“Hawkins, Hawkins” I heard my name called over the intercom. I was sitting alone in a cell in the King County Jail. Waiting… I knew they would call me, I just didn’t know when.
“Yes” I responded.
Bring out your bedding and whatever you’re taking with you. D.O.C. is here” D.O.C. is Department of Corrections.
Anxiety sprung up in me like a broken water main. What lay ahead only God, and those that had taken this trip before me knew.
I stuffed my bedding in the pillow case, the normal form of transport, and picked up the small bag that contained my photographs, phone book, and court documents. I had already distributed the rest of my belongings amongst those who would remain here.
My departure was witnessed by others in the living unit. They watched with interest, some of them knowing they too would follow me soon. Others, hoping that day would never come. I was sent off with warnings such as “Don’t drop the soap in the shower”, and “Be careful”.
Someone unashamedly assured me “I’ll be right behind you”.
I knew that was “Dub”, a friend that I had met here in the county jail.
An older brother came over to me, and gave me a hug, he said “God be with you”. He was the wisdom in our pod, and I often shared conversations with him. I preferred listening though.
I left with a sense of anguish. These people had become my extended family, as we ate together, lived together and shared the suffering that accompanies jails and prisons.
My thoughts were torn between where I had been, and where I was going.
I discarded my bedding at the bottom of the stairs for one of the “trustees” to pick up later.