by Chad Zunker
Billy was a fifteen-year-old runaway who’d been hanging with us for only a month. He had called his distant father after being processed, who I guess had some money, and who got a lawyer down to the juvie center for him ASAP. The lawyer got him released during the initial detention hearing. No lawyer would be showing up for me. Because of that, I had to spend an extra two days in that jail cell being psycho-analyzed by callous adults in the juvenile rehabilitation process who acted like they cared.
Moments later, I finally got ushered into a small private court room in front of an angry-looking old woman in a black robe wearing glasses, sitting behind the judge’s bench. I tried to look as innocent as possible, but the judge barely looked at me. Her eyes were on the papers in front of her. A security guard with a menacing scowl and a mullet stood near me. He smelled like barbecue. The juvenile prosecutor, a guy named Jordan who looked like he’d just graduated from college, stated the official court case against me, my name, some of the other parameters. I glanced over at the guard. His eyes were slits. His arms were crossed and bulging. I remember thinking he’d love for me to make a mad dash for freedom just so he’d have an excuse to throw me against the wall.
I wasn’t paying too much attention, just waiting for my chance to say I was sorry to the judge, when I heard Jordan mention something about Billy and Casper (whom he called Mr. Nedders and Mr. Lighton) submitting a certified letter through “their” attorney stating that I was the true instigator and brains behind the whole car theft operation. That they would testify against me. And that they’d offered up a separate list of other theft endeavors that were clearly made up on the spot. I was stunned. First, that Casper would sign such a thing. We’d been together for almost a year. He seemed loyal. Second, that this lawyer would work to manipulate the juvenile system in such a way to ensure clearing his own client. I know I shouldn’t have been stunned; after all, no one trusted lawyers. But we were still just teenagers. I was technically still a kid.
“That’s a lie,” I blurted out.
The judge looked up suddenly, peering over her glasses, looking even angrier than before. “Quiet, Mr. Callahan. Keep your mouth shut until I ask you to speak. Do you understand? This a courtroom, not a basketball game.”
“But they’re lying, Judge, I swear it.”
“That’s enough out of you. Keep quiet or I’ll have you hauled back to your cell.”
The guard inched closer to me. I gave him a quick glance, grit my teeth, felt my blood pressure boil. I was defenseless. The prosecutor continued with his assessment of me, stating that I had no known family or relatives, no current foster situation, no current address, and that I’d apparently been living on the streets of Denver for the better part of three years. And although I had no prior arrest record, it was pretty clear from the sworn testimony of two of my street mates that I’d made breaking the law a daily practice. While that may have been true, I certainly didn’t like how a lawyer had manipulated the system against me. I was furious.
The juvenile prosecutor finally finished. The judge turned to me.
“This doesn’t look good for you, Mr. Callahan. What do you have to say for yourself?”
I tried to conceal my anger, to stay calm. “Look, Judge, I’m not going to stand here and tell you that I’m completely innocent. I’ll admit that I’ve done my share of dumb things just to survive on my own. I have, Judge. I don’t deny it. But I’ve never hurt anyone. And I promise I’m not the ring leader of a grand theft operation. I’m just a kid who’s made a mistake and who wants another chance. What Billy and Casper are saying about me is not the truth. I swear.”
Her small eyes glared at me. “You expect me to believe you, son, over the offerings of these other two boys? And the account given by the police?”
“Yes, because it’s the truth. Just give me a second chance, Judge. I’ve learned my lesson. I promise you. The past three days have been scary enough. I’m a good kid. I don’t belong in jail.” I tried to offer my best innocent smile.
My desperate plea felt like it hung out there for ten minutes. But it was only ten seconds. The judge stared me down. Then she seemed resolved on the matter.
“Mr. Callahan, it’s in my judgment that more time with us would do you good. Might help wipe that smirk off your face.”
My heart sank. I couldn’t believe it. “Wait, are you serious? How much more time?”
“We’ll determine that at your disposition hearing, son. You’re dismissed.”
I was panicking. “Wait, Judge. Please. It’s that lawyer. Billy’s lawyer screwed me!”
The judge was already done with me. “Please take Mr. Callahan back to his room.”
The beefy guard put his strong hand on me. It felt like he might rupture my arm with his tight squeeze. Then he nearly yanked me off of my feet.
SAM CALLAHAN
Age Sixteen
Denver, Colorado
The juvie correctional officer opened the door to my tiny room, stuck his head inside.
“Let’s go, Callahan. You got a visitor.”
I set the book down beside me on the uncomfortable bed. A visitor? I’d been in juvie for three months without a single visitor. I wasn’t expecting anyone. It wasn’t like one of my street buddies was going to set foot in this jail. Not a chance.
“Who is it, Chucky?” I asked the officer.
“Hell if I know, kid. Some black guy. Come on.”
I followed Chucky down the hallway. He was one of the only decent juvie guards in this place. Most were jerks who were looking to use their batons any chance they could get. I couldn’t blame most of them, though. Many of the kids in this hell hole were destined for violent crimes and real prison one day. The guards were regularly spit on and accosted. I’d done my very best to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble. Just counting down the days, grinding it out. It was horrible.
Chucky led me through two secure doorways and then opened the door to a holding room. He ushered me inside and shut the door behind me.
I was shocked at the face waiting for me. Pastor Isaiah.
He was sitting on the opposite side of a square table in one of his nice gray suits.
“Sam,” he acknowledged. He stood and we shook quick hands.
“What are you doing here, Pastor?”
“Have a seat, okay? Let’s talk.”
I pulled a chair out and sat across from him. “How did you find me?”
“When you disappeared on me, I started asking around. Took a few months but I finally found someone who knew you, could tell me what happened, and I was able to connect the dots from there.”
After our first meeting that morning at Zion Baptist, I’d visited Pastor Isaiah several more times at the church. Usually in hopes of free food, which he always happily delivered. There was a lot of food and conversation. Pastor Isaiah did most of the talking. I enjoyed listening to him. And I missed it. I missed a lot of things now that I’d been locked away in a small sterile room for three long months. I even helped Pastor Isaiah unload church donations at the homeless shelter down the street from Zion several times. We had started to build a decent relationship over the course of the month that I knew him. But I hadn’t seen him since that fateful night that found me in handcuffs several months ago.
“It’s good to see you, Sam. In spite of the circumstances, you look good.”
“Believe it or not, I eat better in here than on the streets.”
“I believe it. But it’s not a diet plan I would ever recommend.”
“You got that right. This place sucks. I’m going crazy in here.”
“You got 12 months?”
“Yes, sir, nine more long ones to go. Two hundred seventy-two days, unless I can get some time off for good behavior, but I’m not counting on that. The days go by so slowly in here, Pastor. It’s rough. A whole year of my life down the drain.”
“What do you think you’ll do when you get out?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Hard to think abo
ut that when it feels like a decade away. But avoid places like this, that’s for sure.”
“You mean that?”
“Absolutely. I’m never coming back to a place like this.”
Something was up, I could tell in Pastor Isaiah’s serious face.
“Why are you here, Pastor?” I asked.
“I have a proposition for you.”
I tilted my head, waited.
“How would you like to get out of here right now?” he asked me.
I stared at him. “What…what do you mean?”
“I spoke to the Judge. Pastor Gregory knows her well. I personally vouched for you. She’s agreed to release you on strict probation if you’ll remain under my direct supervision and care.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m serious if you are serious, Sam. My wife and I have a spare bedroom. You could stay with us for a little while. You’d have to agree to meet the terms of your probation and stay out of trouble. No more stealing cars. No more scams. No more hanging with the wrong crowd. You’d work for me and help around the church. You’d study and finish your education.”
“I don’t understand. What’s the catch?”
“No catch. I told you. We’re all in need of a little grace sometimes. You’re a talented kid with a good heart. I believe in you. I think you just need a second chance.”
I felt numb. No one had ever offered me grace before. The term felt foreign.
“I don’t even know what to say, Pastor.”
“Just say yes. And let’s get the hell out of here.”
I smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Pastor Isaiah and his wife, Alisha, lived in a tiny three bedroom home within walking distance of Zion Baptist. Alisha could not have been more openly gracious to me. I still didn’t really understand how this young married couple with a newborn baby in the house could invite an incarcerated street kid like me into their home. Were they crazy? But I just kept following Pastor Isaiah forward with each step. I had nothing to lose. He had just legally sprung me from jail. I’d do whatever he told me. I desperately wanted a second chance and a fresh start. I wanted to put my street life behind me. I definitely never wanted to see the inside of a jail cell again for the rest of my life. To ensure that, I knew I had to change directions. But this was surreal.
Although small, the home was well decorated and smelled incredible. Alisha was baking cookies in the kitchen. The baby, Grace, was sleeping in a swing in the living room. The biggest bedroom — which wasn’t saying much — belonged to them. There was a bassinet next to the bed where Grace slept at night. They’d actually given me Grace’s nursery. I couldn’t believe it. One of the other bedrooms was a makeshift office for Pastor Isaiah, who said he used it for church work and to study for his talks (he called them his sermons). I had sat in on two before juvie. He was a good speaker. Very relatable. Like he was in our one-on-one conversations.
Pastor Isaiah opened the door to the third bedroom.
“Welcome home, Sam.”
That word “home” hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t make sense of it. I think it would take me a long time to ever believe it, but I was glad to hear it. The room had a twin bed in the corner, a row of empty bookshelves along one wall, and a small wooden desk against another wall. It was warm and perfect. I felt overwhelmed with emotions.
“Make yourself comfortable here,” said Pastor Isaiah. “You’re welcome to rearrange the furniture to your liking, put up whatever pictures you want, as long as they are respectable, and do whatever you need to do to make this feel like your space.”
I nodded.
“The guest bathroom is just down the hallway. Please keep it tidy, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have to head over to church for a meeting. Dinner is at 6pm every night. You don’t want to miss it, I promise. Alisha is an amazing cook.”
“I won’t miss it. Ever. You can count on that.”
He smiled, put his arm around my shoulder. “You okay?”
“I don’t know. It’s just so hard to believe I’m here. I woke up this morning in a tiny jail room. I showered awkwardly with other guys. Put on my uncomfortable prison uniform. Got yelled at by guards. Just like the past eighty-nine days. And now I’m standing here.”
“That’s over now, Sam. Time to make a new life, if you really want it.”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
Pastor Isaiah connected me with a job at the homeless shelter, said the church would pay me a small monthly stipend to serve there several hours a day. I’d work in the kitchen, stock shelves, run errands to pick up donated items, work with the guests, and whatever else the director at the shelter needed. Then we would look into getting my education back in order. I just kept doing what he encouraged me to do, step by step, one foot after another, tried not to overthink it, and it felt like my life was slowly and unexpectedly changing.
It was the first time in nearly four years that I had an actual schedule and a rhythm to my day. Like regular breakfast, lunch, and dinner. No more wandering around, wondering about meals, scheming how to get my hands on some quick cash. I was reading a lot. Pastor Isaiah kept giving me books that I usually devoured in one night. I was a sponge. I served every single day at the shelter, whether on the pay clock or not, and made a lot of new friends with people on the streets, men and women with shaggy hair and missing teeth, some of whom I already knew. I studied hard to get my GED, which was easy for me, got my driver’s license, and I was eating so well from Alisha’s cooking that I’d packed on ten healthy pounds.
After several months with Pastor Isaiah, he sat me down in his home office one day.
“Let’s talk about college, Sam.”
“College?”
“Yeah, have you thought about where you might go?”
I was baffled. “I’ve never once in my life thought about going to college.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous. You’re going to college.”
“But…how?”
“Just like everyone else. By taking the right entrance tests, talking to the right people, applying for the right grants. Making it happen. That’s how.”
“I’m not like everyone else, Pastor.”
“You’re right. You’re special. You’re smarter than any teenager we’ve ever had at Zion.”
He swiveled his chair toward his desk, grabbed a stack of folders. Then swiveled back to me. “I’ve taken the liberty of getting material from different colleges around the state. I want you to look through them and see what stands out to you.”
“Okay.”
“You might want to even consider law school.”
I laughed. “What? That’s absurd.”
“Why not? Nick at the shelter says you’ve been helping a lot of the guys with their legal paperwork. He said you’ve got a knack for it and even wrote a letter for one of the guys using a lot of legal language that even he didn’t understand. Said one of the lawyers at the street clinic has been trying to recruit you to work at their place.”
“That’s true. But that’s a long way from law school.”
He leaned forward on both elbows, moved closer to me. I knew when he did this, it was time for a life lesson. Time to get serious. And I was okay with that.
“Listen, Sam, you have way too much potential and too many incredible gifts to not pursue them all to the very highest level. You’re one of the smartest kids I’ve been around. You’re brilliant, really. You can read a book a night. Books that take me at least two weeks or more, you just plow through them like they’re comic books. Who can do that? And you have this amazing charisma with people. I see it all the time at church and at the shelter. Alisha sees it in you, too. You need to start seeing it in yourself. You can do anything you want in life. College would be the first step for you, if you want it. From there, who knows where God will take you. To me, it seems clear from watching you at the shelter, and speaking with the director, that a life of service to others might be in your future.”
“I don’t know what to say. I honestly don’t feel worthy of any of this.”
“It’s not about being worthy. It’s about being grateful. And letting that gratitude help you maximize the new opportunities you’re getting.”
“I am grateful.”
“Let me tell you something. And I had to accept this for myself several years ago when I felt called into ministry. I know you got the short end of the stick in life. Mom dumped you. That sucks. Dad was never around. And you’ve been through some horrible experiences. Things I wouldn’t wish on any kid. You probably have every right to be pissed off at God. No one would deny you that. But you have to let go of it when given the chance to move forward. Your past doesn’t have to define you. While I don’t believe any of that pain you experienced was God’s plan for your life, I absolutely believe he is in the redemption business. I’ve experienced it myself. You think I, for one moment, feel like I deserve Alisha, or Grace, or any of this life I now get to live? No way. But I’ve come to not only accept but to embrace that God often likes to take the pain of our past and turn it into the fuel for our ministry future. You understand me?”
“Not really.”
He smiled, patted me on the shoulder. “I mean your past can be used for good, if you’ll allow it, Sam. So stop running away from it. Check out these college pamphlets and let’s talk more by the end of the week. We need to get your applications started.”
“Yes, sir.”
THIRTEEN
Saturday, 8:04 p.m.
Austin, Texas
2 days, 3 hours, 56 minutes to Election Day
Ted Bowerson lived in a 2,200 square foot home just south of the river near downtown Austin, in an exclusive old neighborhood overlooking the skyline near Zilker Park and Barton Springs. According to the public property records, Ted had purchased the home two years ago. He had obviously done very well for himself. I knew he also owned a luxury condo in Adams Morgan in DC. The cabbie dropped me on the corner of the quiet street. Earlier, I had called Ted several times from an old-school public payphone outside a Stop N Go near the library. I never left a message. I wasn’t interested in more trails. As the radio silence grew between us throughout the day, I was becoming more suspicious of Ted. What would Ted have to gain by giving me up? Was he connected to this thing somehow? He was the only one at the moment, other than my mom, who knew some version of the truth. Unless he’d already shared it with others.
