by Damon West
“My name is Damon West. I’m here to take y’all to safety,” I said, offering my hand.
“My name is Chester,” the anxious father said, shaking my hand. The fear in his eyes was apparent. “Where are you taking us?”
“St. Elizabeth’s Church in Port Neches. It’s my church. I’m from Port Arthur, too. Please come with me. Let’s get y’all out of here.”
“There are too many for one vehicle. Can you get my family to safety? Take them and come back for me,” he pleaded.
“Negative, sir. Everyone’s going. Right now. We will have to put a few kids in the back, but the truck will hold everyone. Let me help with your bags.”
In the pouring rain, I ushered the little family to the truck, holding two of the kids’ bags. Whatever was in there were the things they chose over everything else. Armed with this understanding, I handled every bag with great care, the way I would want someone handling my bag if I had one. We loaded up two of the kids in the back with the bags and made our way through the flooded bowling alley parking lot. It took tremendous concentration to navigate the water, the currents, and the boats. There were more boats on the roads than vehicles.
After dropping Chester and his family off at St. Elizabeth’s, where so many of my fellow parishioners were waiting to help, I grabbed a couple of the men who had trucks and asked them to follow me back to the bowling alley. We shuttled people all morning from the bowling alley to the church, always focusing on elderly and children. After one of the runs, I checked my social media accounts to see if there were any calls for help or any responses to my call. No calls for help in my inbox, but there were messages from CNN, Fox, ABC, The Weather Channel, and Reuters. All of them wanted to know if they could use my social media footage throughout the day. As quickly as I could, I typed away permission, hoping this would get Port Arthur’s desperate situation some much-needed national attention.
I’ve been blessed with much in this new life. One of those blessings is a disproportionately large social media footprint for a guy out of prison less than two years. My presentations all over the country have amassed a network of “friends” and “followers” that connect me to a world far beyond Southeast Texas. Social media is a powerful tool.
From various locations, I sent videos out on social media. Sometimes it was a request for a shelter running out of food. Other times it was about a shelter running out of space and new shelters opening up. By nightfall I regrouped with Abi and her friends, the boat people. They took me down by the mall for boat rescues in the dark. The bravery I saw from the Coast Guard, the military, the police, the first responders, and all the volunteers was breathtaking. No one hesitated to run into danger. This was my kind of crowd.
Over the roaring motors of the boats and helicopters, the other rescue crew and I would converse by yelling. There was no way any of us could possibly remember the faces of the people we pulled out of this hell in the last twenty-four hours, but every person we pulled out would remember our faces forever.
“I’ve been in a place where there’s no hope. You always remember the face of hope,” I told them.
Sleep that night was fitful, as I kept seeing the fear in the eyes of my neighbors from that bowling alley. The children’s faces bothered me the most. No child should have to go through something like this.
The next day the sun was out. A welcome sight. Helicopters still filled the air and there was greater access to the roadways as the waters receded. Entire neighborhoods were underwater. The guys I’d been with the night before called to meet up for more rescues. We ended up in the Walmart parking lot, where the first responders were located. Within minutes I was in a military transport to take water and food to Thomas Jefferson Middle School’s gymnasium. My old high school, now a junior high, was being made into a Red Cross shelter.
Upon entering the gym, my heart broke at what I saw. Hundreds of cots were assembled across the basketball court, looking more like a prison day room than a gym. Hundreds of my fellow Port Arthur citizens were shuffling around, waiting for various forms of assistance and guidance. The unwashed masses of people I grew up with were reduced to a trash bag full of belongings each and a green Army cot. A childhood buddy saw me and we hugged. He and his son were waiting for food and water. I asked him about the conditions in the shelter and he pulled no punches. It was misery. Unable to offer any immediate assistance, I asked him to help me shoot a video to post in the hopes it could focus some attention on our broken town.
The video we shot from TJ’s gym was a plea for help to my hometown. I showed the entire setup in there, and the people in need. I posted it to my social media platforms and put my phone away. After volunteering at the shelter for about twenty more minutes when the Red Cross made me leave, I hopped in the truck and drove through Port Arthur offering assistance wherever I could.
About an hour had passed when my phone rang. It was Daniel Gotera, a newscaster and friend from KHOU in Houston. He said he was with Mike Orta and came across my video. He wanted my permission to share it to KHOU’s Facebook page, which had a million followers. I told him I was grateful for any help he could offer Port Arthur.
The video went viral. It was shared thousands of times and viewed over 300,000 times. Within hours I was meeting up with my childhood friend Derrick Freeman, the mayor of Port Arthur, telling him about the influx of help coming at me through every messaging platform. I needed a warehouse. He said Port Arthur would be unable to have one opened for at least twenty-four more hours. Knowing that these offers to help would probably be shifted to one of the other areas of Texas by then, I called Abi. She had a vast network of people.
“Abi, I have forty-eight messages in my inbox. We need to make something happen for Port Arthur right now. We need to sit down and plan this out.”
By evening, two of her friends had found a warehouse for us to begin receiving shipments of trucks. The system was simple. I checked my inbox, contacted the person who saw my videos, and connected them to Abi. She coordinated the deliveries. Other friends were called in and an operation was born. Our first trucks began arriving at midnight. Not having anywhere in Port Arthur to get the trucks to because it was still underwater, I called in some pastors from Beaumont who made multiple trips. Abi used her network and the traffic began flowing.
Over the next four days, we would see more than one hundred sixty trucks, trailers, 18-wheelers, U-Hauls, and just about any form of transport you can imagine from all over the country. At one point we even had a landing zone created in the field across from the warehouse for helicopters to deliver supplies. Planes were landing at the local airport with supplies. The size and scope of the operation was breathtaking. The outpouring of support from America was amazing to witness. All of the donations were from private citizens who wanted to help.
The shipments would no sooner arrive than we would have them loaded onto a transport truck from some local volunteers, churches, or other groups in Southeast Texas. We were able to help more than just Port Arthur, our original goal. We estimated more than half a million pounds of food and water came through there. This does not include all the supplies like clothing and bedding. Not bad for a few people with a desire to help out and serve others.
As Labor Day approached, all of us volunteers closed the warehouse to return to our normal lives and jobs. It was the best team of which I have been a member. We all marveled at the power of social media to kick-start our operation and the can-do spirit of Americans as a whole. Each of us rode that wave, that high you feel from helping others. Servant leadership at its finest. What an awesome testament to the concept of finding the best in a bad situation and being that coffee bean.
I refrain from talking about religion whenever possible. I don’t quote scripture, don’t shove my beliefs down other people’s throats. Instead, I talk about my spiritual journey and make no apologies for my faith in God as I understand Him. That is every person’s right.
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In closing, I will open a window into a biblical character in whom I’ve found much kinship. I don’t think his name comes up in many places outside the Catholic Church. His name is Dismas, better known as the “Good Thief,” on the cross next to Jesus. We are both reformed thieves, but the bond is much deeper. We were both flawed men who hurt others.
Fortunately for both of us, we were convicted. Not just for our crimes, but also in our souls. We both lost our lives for our crimes and our sins, yet we did not let that define us. When each of us truly surrendered, that is when we were really living.
Our lives began at conviction.
EPILOGUE
Life Coming Full Circle
Sunday, August 5, 2018
Minneapolis, Minnesota
“KENDELL, WE HAVE TO GET TO THE AIRPORT early so I can get Clara’s snow globe,” I said to my girlfriend while we were walking down to the light rail.
“Baby, relax. We’ll have three hours in the airport. I promise you that will be enough time to pick out a snow globe for Clara,” she assured me. She knows how much I obsess over things.
Kendell and I started dating this year. She’s the first serious girlfriend I’ve had in this new life. Clara is her six-year old daughter, for whom I buy snow globes on every trip. The two of them have opened up a whole new world of meaning and purpose for me. I’ve never laughed so much or been happier.
We got to the airport with plenty of time to spare. She helped me pick out a cute little snow globe with a bear in it, for Minnesota. It’s the perfect gift for Clara because everyone calls her Clara Bear. She’ll love it.
With a few hours before my flight, I’ve decided to write one last chapter before I submit this entire manuscript to the publisher tomorrow. There’s no way I can leave off all that happened in the past year. In every way, this year has been the biggest ever.
I was in Minneapolis this weekend as the keynote speaker for the American Correctional Association’s Congress of Corrections. The ACA is the oldest prison organization in the country. Its members include pretty much every prison in America and many in the civilized world. When I was working as a clerk in prison, it was my job to help my department prepare for the ACA audits. Yesterday, I addressed a room filled to capacity with prison operators from all over the country. In attendance were many of the directors from TDCJ. Judging by the warm reception I received after my presentation, I feel as though TDCJ may one day view me as a partner and find ways to send me back into prisons to be useful.
Imagine that. TDCJ sending me back to prison to be part of the solution instead of part of the problem. Life coming full circle.
Speaking of the Texas prisons, Senator Whitmire has been instrumental in helping me spread my message. I know I would not be where I am without his patience and support. I’m truly grateful.
Professionally, the presentations have picked up considerably. Just this spring, I’ve presented to the football programs at University of North Carolina, Florida State, Houston (baseball and football), Tennessee, Arkansas, Miami, Texas Tech, and the University of Texas. In the fall, I’ll be venturing out to Toledo, Mississippi State and a few Pac 12 schools, with presentations at Arizona and Oregon.
I’ve appeared on television in various media markets, as well as globally on EWTN, the global Catholic network. My new friend, Father Mitch Pacwa, set that up. While the media and social media attention has been great for building my name and spreading my message, I stay grounded in my program of recovery. Humility must be paramount. Always, I view my platform as a blessing and use it to spread positivity.
In March, the Junior League of Beaumont held their annual fundraiser, called Dancing With the Stars, just like the television show. They picked eight men and eight women from Southeast Texas who they feel have the social appeal and the ability to raise money for their philanthropy. An ingenious idea, as the event is huge. This year, I was picked to be in the show. My dance partner turned out to be the sheriff of Jefferson County, Zena Stephens. She is the first female, African-American sheriff in Texas history. When they announced us as partners, we both knew what we were going to do.
Our routine was called “The Cop and the Con.” Zena was an eager participant and a great sport about it all. I came out in a county jail jumpsuit and broken handcuffs; she was wearing a cute police outfit. Our choreographer, Emma Hunter Davis, had us dancing to I Shot the Sheriff and Bad Boys. All good fun, in the name of charity.
One of my goals in life was to go back to school. With encouragement from Kendell, I applied, and was accepted, to the master’s program in criminal justice at Lamar University. Hopefully my background from the other side of the criminal justice system offers a unique perspective to my peers and my professors. I know I’ve learned so much from them.
And this book has been purchased by a publisher. My literary agent, Alex Glass, was outstanding. He was confident from the beginning that it would get published, even when I thought there was no chance. And it is all in my own words.
My good friend, Don Sanders, whom I met on the Alabama trip, even purchased in advance seven hundred copies to send to every person on his Christmas card list. His kindness and generosity in all things has been truly humbling.
My personal life has seen some substantial changes. Meeting Kendell was a God thing. It’s the first mature relationship I’ve ever had because I’m sober and in recovery. Kendell is a nurse practitioner, which means she, like my mother who is a nurse, has the same trait of nearly every health care worker I’ve ever met: empathy. Maybe I was looking for someone like my mother the whole time. Even though Kendell is not an addict and not in recovery, she understands the disease of addiction, and she also knows my life depends on me working my program of recovery and going to my meetings.
The greatest thing I have to report is that I celebrated ten years sober last week, on July 30, 2018. It was the anniversary of my arrest (the Dallas SWAT team brought me into sobriety at gunpoint, saving my life). My family celebrated the occasion with me, a reminder of how far we have come.
Spiritually, I’ve never felt closer to God. Without asking for anything from Him, except that He put in front of me what He needs me to do for Him, my life has never been fuller and more useful. As long as I keep God and my program of recovery in front of everything I do, my life is simple. Besides, I have a ton of perspective on what a bad day truly looks like. So far, I haven’t seen one on the outside of those prison walls.
I’ve learned that the best presentations conclude with a “call to action.” My call to action to everyone reading this book is the same one I give to every group to which I speak.
Go out into society and be a coffee bean!
