With no home to stay in and no job to go to, I spent my days walking up and down the less-traveled roads of Benton Harbor where I didn’t see anyone and no one saw me. Most nights I slept in my brother’s car. He left it unlocked when he got home from work, and I was out of it and back walking the streets before he left the next day. On some of the really cold nights or when I needed to take a shower, I went to my aunt’s house, but I didn’t do that very often because she didn’t have any extra room. I stayed at the Salvation Army once, but I didn’t go back because someone stole everything I had with me.
Those days were dark—darker than anything I’d ever experienced before, even darker than Milan. I just walked the streets all day. I didn’t ask anyone for help because I felt ashamed. Everyone in town knew about the settlement money. The $13 million had been all over the news. I thought anyone who saw me in this condition would look down on me for throwing my money away so quickly. So I just kept walking down untraveled roads in the middle of winter in late 2013 and into 2014, which also happened to be one of the coldest winters ever. At night I put on all the clothes I had and curled up in the back seat of my brother’s car. The next day I was back out, walking in the snow or sleet or whatever fell from the sky.
Without even realizing it, I found myself talking to God as I walked. It was like I was back on the track in the prison yard at Milan. I started pouring out my heart to him. God, I’m home and I’m worse off than I ever was in prison. Why? What is going on? I thought about the people who’d betrayed me and I wanted to blame them, but the longer I walked the more I knew all this was on me. I was on the streets because of choices I had made, no one else. I admitted that to God. I told him I was here because of me. I thought back to the last time I walked along pouring out my heart to God. On that day I finally listened to God and let go of the anger that was eating me up inside. I didn’t just let go of the anger, though. I made promises to God that day about how I was going to live for him and let him control my life. But the moment he set me free, I tossed all those promises aside, and this is where that decision left me: broken down, barely surviving, at the lowest of the lows.
God, I’m sorry, I prayed.
—
My auntie figured out what was going on when she saw me walking around her neighborhood every day. Without asking me, she made some phone calls on my behalf. One day she came to me and said, “You need to get some help.”
“Nah, I’ll be all right,” I said. “I’m going to get it together.”
She refused to take no for an answer. “I’m going to take you over to Riverwood where they can help you.” Riverwood Center is a mental health center in Benton Harbor.
“No. No way am I going there,” I said.
My auntie persisted. “They can help you,” she kept saying.
I didn’t listen. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone could help me at this point. I told her no firmly enough that she dropped it.
The winter got colder, cold enough that I went to my aunt’s house to warm up and take a shower. She wanted to let me move in, but she had a house full of girls living with her at the time.* After I showered, my aunt told me she needed to meet her daughter somewhere and asked if I wanted to come along. I agreed to go. Her house was crowded, and a warm car sounded a lot better than the cold streets. We ended up at Riverwood. She told me that’s where her daughter was. Then she asked if I had my ID on me. When I asked why, she told me she had to show them someone’s ID to get in the door. She was lying, but I’m glad she was.
My aunt had already lined up an appointment for me with one of the doctors at Riverwood, Dr. Carter. I guess I could have left and not talked to him, but by this point I was tired of life. Dr. Carter sat down with me and opened our time together by saying, “You seem like a wreck, man. What’s going on?” He didn’t say it like a doctor but like a friend.
I let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I’m going through it. My auntie thought I should come here before it gets any worse.” I then proceeded to let it all out.
When I finished, he jumped up and left the room, which struck me as odd. I saw him in the other room making phone calls. At first I thought he was calling the police or something. But when he came back, he explained he had been trying to find a place for me to stay. He couldn’t reach anyone, which I told him was okay. Then he pulled forty dollars out of his pocket and pressed it into my hand, saying, “This is for clothes.” He also gave me a number to call. “These people will get you some help,” he said. I agreed to come back the next week and talk more with him.
Dr. Carter and the Riverwood Center connected me with Debra Mead, who worked for Michigan Rehabilitation Services (MRS). The agency helps people find jobs and get job training. Debra was determined to help me. The first time I met her, she was so energetic and happy. She said, “It’s good to finally meet you. The staff at Riverwood has told me a lot about you.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty messed up right now,” I said with a shrug.
“I can help,” she told me. Debra explained how MRS worked and the job training they did. Then she added, “It’s going to take a while to get you in, but I know of another program I think will be a perfect fit.”
“I’m open to anything,” I said, even though I was unsure about job training. I knew how to get a job. My problem was finding a job that didn’t require two good hands.
“There’s a program called Jobs for Life that’s part of Mosaic downtown. I think it’s a good fit and you can get right in.”
“All right,” I said without a lot of enthusiasm. “Sign me up.”
* * *
* After the girls all got their own places, I lived with my aunt for a short time before I got my own place.
Andrew
I first met Brian Bennett, the pastor of Overflow Church, in late 2008. I later learned that he spent much of our initial conversation praying, God, don’t let me say what I want to say to this guy! In his defense, he had just read a newspaper account of what I had done, and it had made him very angry. I look back on that first meeting now and laugh because the two of us became very close friends. We corresponded weekly while I was in prison, and he also led the church to help look after my wife and daughter in my absence.
My story particularly angered Brian because he and his wife had moved to Benton Harbor less than two years before my arrest to start a church that bridged all racial and economic divides. They came not only to start a church but also to begin what was then called Overflow Christian Community Development Association, now known as Mosaic Christian Community Development Association (or Mosaic CCDA), in the heart of Benton Harbor. Brian envisioned Mosaic as a place that would impact the community through job training and creation, education, housing, and health care. The most visible parts of Mosaic are a coffee shop and café and an adjoining resale store. But it’s about more than coffee and used clothes and furniture. From the start, Mosaic provided job training and entry-level jobs for people in a community with a very high unemployment rate and a significant income difference compared to its sister city, St. Joseph, the predominantly white community that’s just across the St. Joseph River.
Eventually I found myself in need of one of those entry-level jobs. After leaving the discount tire store I went to work for minimum wage at a factory in nearby Coloma, Michigan, where we lived. Coloma is ten miles up I-94 from Benton Harbor. Eventually I got a small raise, but it wasn’t enough to support my family.
A friend of mine told me about a job in a factory where he worked in Benton Harbor. The job started at ten dollars an hour, which may not seem like a lot, but it was quite a raise for me in 2011. Unfortunately, the work slowed down. In November 2012, the company decided it had to cut expenses, which meant laying off employees. Since I was one of the newest hires, I was one of the first let go. Moving to Colorado began to look more and more attractive.
One Sunday I mentioned losing my job to Pastor Brian. He told me Mosaic needed a part-time delivery truck driver for the resale store. Since I didn’t
have any other prospects, I took the job. Almost immediately the café had a part-time opening, so I took that as well. Two part-time jobs equaled one full-time job, so I stopped looking for another job. Working right in the heart of downtown Benton Harbor meant more reunions with people I had illegally put in jail, but with time, the meetings became less frequent and less heated. Occasionally I ran into someone who cussed me up one side and down the other, and I still do to this day, but I’ve been through so many similar encounters that I can diffuse the situation pretty quickly. I’ve found that when you are open and honest rather than making excuses and when you genuinely listen and offer a heartfelt apology, people respond. Proverbs 15:1 says, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” It works every time.
I worked both jobs at Mosaic for about a year. Pastor Brian had been correct when he told me I was going to run into Jamal McGee. He still worked at the café when I first started working there. To my great relief Jamal was not Jameel. They might have been fraternal twins, but I never made the connection between the two. I figured they were two people with names that sounded a lot alike.
During my year of working the two jobs at Mosaic, the café went through two managers. Eventually they offered me the job. This was no ordinary café manager position. The café’s primary purposes are job training and community development, not selling coffee and sandwiches. I started to feel as if I was finally doing what I came to Benton Harbor to do back in 2003. For the first time I felt as if I was making a difference.
A couple of years before I started at Mosaic, they had piloted a program called Jobs for Life, an international program headquartered in North Carolina. While Jobs for Life has made a tremendous impact on communities around the world, it didn’t go over so well at Mosaic the first time around. Out of the original ten people who signed up, only two or three actually graduated. Early in 2015 we gave it another try. But before we opened up the program to the community, the Mosaic management team, which now included me, went through the program together. Mentoring plays a key role in the Jobs for Life program, which is why the management team went through it first. If we were to guide someone through the process, we needed to have already traveled that road. The program is designed for people who have had trouble finding a job capable of supporting their families. Believe me, I knew that journey by heart. Since my release from prison I’d worked plenty of minimum-wage, dead-end jobs.
After the management team finished the training, people signed up for the first class. My only connection to the program was as a mentor, and occasionally I shared my testimony to encourage people who had made mistakes.
Princella managed Jobs for Life. She and Ric, Mosaic CCDA’s executive director, did most of the actual training. They held classes across the street from Mosaic at a place called Michigan Works! Association, which trains and connects workers to area companies. During the sign-up phase before the first class had started, I overheard Ric and Princella talking about Jamal’s brother Zookie. The name didn’t ring a bell for me. Nearly ten years had gone by since I’d heard it. I remember Princella saying, “I don’t think Zookie will stick it out, because he doesn’t look too happy to be here.” Ric agreed.
One day I noticed a guy walking across the street and going into the Michigan Works! building. Someone pointed him out as Zookie. He didn’t look familiar to me. Jamal came in a short time later. “Hey,” I said to him, “I heard your brother’s in Jobs for Life.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“And it’s good?” I asked.
“We’ll see” is all Jamal said in return.
Jameel
Riverwood didn’t just introduce me to Debra Mead. They also arranged for me to receive food stamps, which enabled me to buy food. Since I still didn’t have a place to store groceries or to cook, I bought mostly ready-to-eat stuff, namely, junk food. If the store had a microwave, I bought frozen food and heated it up right there. If it didn’t, I bought whatever I could carry and ate it on my way.
Thanks to Dr. Carter at Riverwood, I now had more clothes than just the ones on my back. Debra also connected me with different places where I could get out of the cold and get some help when I needed it. Right after our first meeting, she even bought me a bicycle so I could get around town. I have that bike to this day. I call it my Lexus.
The biggest thing I needed was a job. The whole mess in which I found myself came down to the fact that I could no longer do the kind of physical work I’d done all my life. When some of the guys around town heard I was living on the streets, they offered to set me up in their business. This happened a lot. I always turned them down. No matter how cold or hungry I became, I was never desperate enough to sell drugs, which was the only business the guys I grew up around ever started. I don’t mean that as an insult. These guys were really trying to help me. They meant well. Most of the people selling dope in poor communities like Benton Harbor do it because they don’t know any different and don’t have any other options. The schools are bad. Jobs don’t pay a livable wage. And the drug dealers drive the best cars in town. Poor kids see this and figure it’s the only way to get ahead.
I needed a job, but when Debra first took me to Jobs for Life for an interview to see if I was a good fit for the program, I resisted. I knew about Mosaic because my brother worked there for a while. The Jobs for Life program was new, which didn’t matter to me. Like I said, I resisted, probably because of pride. Working had never been a problem for me. I gave everything I had to every job I ever held, even in prison. To me, this program seemed like something for people who’d never worked.
Since I didn’t have any other options, I signed up. I went over to the Mosaic resale store and bought some more clothes. I figured if I was going to do this, I might as well do it right. When it came time for the classes to begin, I was there. Every day. I’d been homeless for nearly two years, and I was sick and tired of it. If this Jobs for Life program could help me get a job that was going to let me put my life back together, then I was willing to give it a try.
About three weeks into the training, the director, Princella, met with me to talk about the person she wanted to match me with. “God has just laid it on my heart that you and one of our staff members, the manager of the café, should be together. I’ve asked him if he will meet with you and he’s agreed,” she said.
“All right,” I said. I still wasn’t real enthusiastic about any of this, but I’d told Debra I’d do it, and I was going to keep my word. She’d done a lot to help me. I wasn’t going to let her down.
“Yes,” Princella said. “His name is Andrew Collins.”
I nearly fell out of my chair. “Who?” I said.
“Andrew Collins,” she repeated.
Homeless or not, I nearly lost it right there. All I could think was, Nah, nah, nah! There ain’t no way this is happening! No way! How can Andrew Collins be involved in this? Surely my brother would have told me about that. I held it together as best I could and told her, “Miss P, I need to pray on that for a minute.”
“That’s fine,” Princella said, completely oblivious to the fact that Andrew and I had a history together. She got up and went somewhere—I don’t know where. I wasn’t paying much attention to her because I was freaking out inside. I closed my eyes and said, God, what are you doing? This can’t be happening! If this is my choice, then let’s do something different. The words my choice stopped me right there. During my days of walking the back streets of Benton Harbor, God and I had talked a lot about the poor choices I’d made. Far too many times I did what was easy. Did I really want to do that again? Did I really want to walk away from this opportunity because I was uncomfortable?
I opened my eyes and looked down at the Jobs for Life book on my lap. I’d never really studied the cover before. The words formed a mountain. On top of the mountain I noticed two small red stickmen. I looked closely at the two men. Only then could I see that one was pulling the other up. Wow, I thought, why have I never seen this bef
ore? Now the figures jumped off the book at me. It was as if one was telling the other, “I got you. Don’t worry.”
God spoke to me through those two little red guys on the book. “Miss P,” I said, “I think God wants me to do this. I think I have to do this.”
“Really?” she said, surprised. “Great. Andrew’s across the street at the café right now waiting for you.”
“Now? Like right now?”
“Yes. I spoke with him this morning and he’s ready for you.”
Wow, God, you aren’t giving me any space on this one, are you? “Okay. I guess I’ll mosey over there,” I said.
When I walked in the door of Cafe Mosaic, Andrew was seated at one of the tables. I walked over to him. He stood up and smiled and said, “Jameel McGee?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, wondering why he was asking who I was.
“Andrew Collins,” he said, introducing himself. “Have a seat.” I took a seat across from him. “Your brother worked here, didn’t he?” Andrew asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, he did,” I said, still confused.
“He’s a good guy,” he said. Then Andrew started explaining the program’s process. The whole time he was talking, I kept thinking to myself that surely he knew who I was. I thought it was possible he didn’t recognize me, because the last time we saw each other four years earlier I had long dreadlocks and was clean shaven. Now I had a beard and my head was bald. And after living on the streets for so long, I was also smaller than I had been. But still, even if he didn’t recognize me, he had to know who I was by my name. I mean, he worked with my brother—my twin brother. We aren’t identical twins, but there’s no way he couldn’t make the connection.
Convicted Page 18
