Nate, is the “poster child” for hundreds of men and women I have met in county jail during the 10 or more years I have been going there. I offer a class/counseling group for inmates called Decisions: Building a life choice by choice. His story is perhaps more striking than most. I choose his story because it graphically illustrates the appalling injustices suffered by many people caught up in the criminal justice system.

Nate is a tall handsome man made ugly by a bullet that entered his left ear and passed out his right lower jaw. As Nate would say, “I needs ta get somuff ma toofers fixed.” Nate is a drink ‘til you black-out alcoholic, born in “the ghetto” to a drug dealing father who soon left, and a crack addicted mother who later found Allah. As a teen he fell under the influence of an uncle who played mentor in how to survive on the streets.

By 19 Nate found himself in jail awaiting prosecution for a brutal rape/murder of an elderly woman. She was stabbed many times. The crime was so heinous that after investigators beat a confession from him, he was then returned to his cell block where guards looked away as he was repeatedly stabbed with pencils by avenging inmates. His case did not make it to trial, because his uncle confessed that he had done it and fingered Nate. Nate was freed. His uncle was put to death.

After his release Nate’s troubles were far from over. Another uncle was angry that Nate had not taken the rap. His uncle threatened to kill him, and he did try. Walking along the street one evening Nate’s wrathful uncle approached and shot him seven times, once up close in the head as Nate turned away, and six times as Nate fled. Nate spent many months in the hospital, and underwent many surgeries. He now suffers from severe head aches, has difficulty chewing food because of missing teeth, and shies away from people because of his disfigurement and fear of betrayal. He self medicates with alcohol.

During our talks in jail, he once asked me about a book I was reading regarding the origins of violence. At first I thought he was merely trying to con me, ingratiate himself with me so as to manipulate positive remarks from me at his sentencing. This was perhaps partly true, but soon I discovered that he did have a good mind and he was earnest about wanting to learn. Over the months I pitched him several books which he devoured. The one about which we had the most meaningful discussions was Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein. He identified strongly with the creature who was made monstrous by the neglect and rejection of his creator and all those he had tried to befriend. He identified with the creature’s loneliness, despair and rage. He also identified with Dr. Frankenstein’s fear, shame and indecisiveness about what to do to rectify the situation he had brought into being.

I once asked him what his dream for his life was. He pondered for a while, because no one had asked him this before. Finally he said, “I likesta works wifma hands. I’d likesta beeild mysef ma own house.” I said I thought that a great dream, and certainly do-able.

It is usually vagrancy, disorderly conduct or drunk driving that brings Nate back into jail. Causing this is of course his alcoholism which also causes him to lose jobs, apartments, etc. Below the alcoholism is loneliness, self-doubt and despair. He has a profound need for a true mentor/patron/sponsor/friend/father/mother. He had hoped to find that in me. I disappointed him. Bound by the ethics of psychotherapy, as well as my personal limitations, I fell short of what he needed. After he got out of jail and out on probation, he did well for awhile. He held a job, got an apartment, a TV and a car. He went to AA meetings daily, and got an AA sponsor. Eventually the loneliness and drink began to win out. He lost his job, apartment and all of his hard won possessions. The last word I had from him was a note that said he was going back to the big city to “to see ma Mama.” Since his mother had recently died, I figured he meant to visit her grave. That was nearly a year ago. I fear he too has died, in some back ally.

I carry some guilt. Did I do enough? Because of fear, did I withhold what was needed and could have given? I seek shelter in the thought that I try to do my best, and that it is hubris to think I can do all.