About the Author
----------------
Clifton Collins Jr. is an actor who’s appeared in Pacific Rim,
Transcendence, Traffic, and other films, including the upcoming
Triple Nine.
Samuel L. Jackson, who wrote the Foreword, is the award-winning
actor who has appeared in more than 100 films, including Pulp
Fiction and The Avengers.
Read more ( javascript:void(0) )
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
--------------------------------------------------------
IntroductionOne hot day in August, there was a prison riot at the
California Institution for Men in Chino. I was halfway through a
six-year sentence, the her of young children, and I wanted
nothing to do with extending my time in that hellhole. But the
race riot that unfolded that night was inescapable.
I was with a group of Southern California Hispanics, outnumbered
and trapped in the last surviving dorm. Fires raged all around
us. More than one hundred angry men were doing everything
possible to break down a secured door. Their only desire was to
m or preferably kill us. We were pretty much doomed—we knew
it, they knew it. The only thing I had left in that shithole
worth fighting for were the pictures of my kids taped to my
locker shelf. So we prepared ourselves for the massacre, lacing
up and wrapping towels around our necks to protect our jugulars.
There were two Christian brothers in our dorm just praying. It
was pretty grim.
And then, as the door began to give way and the rioting inmates
were just about to storm in, two older guys ran to our aid. They
were OGs—Original Gang members of the Crips—and they stood
between us and the bloodthirsty attackers.
They must have argued for two hours, until finally the rioting
inmates backed down. The lines of race and gang affiliation are
deeper in prison than anywhere else, so the fact that these
African American guys defended us—Hispanics—against their own
brothers is practically unheard of.
Since fires were still raging, and the door to our dorm was now
jammed, we and our “enemies” were both trapped. They were outside
in the prison yard, freezing and huddled up. I noticed one of the
OG men passing them the little bit of food he had, from his
locker. At that moment I felt it only right to try to return a
small portion of a big favor. I gathered all the homies and we
began to cook all our Ramen and commissary. We made huge spreads,
jugs of coffee, and snacks. We shoved all the blankets and
mattresses we could fit through the door they had once attempted
to break down to kill us. Most of them were just kids, barely in
their twenties, living and following the same lies we were.
Shortly after this, I received a visit from my childhood friend
Clifton. Growing up in the mean streets of West L.A., who would
have thought that many years later we’d still be friends? We came
from the same housing projects, but grew up in different worlds.
Cliff was never deep in the game like many others, but he was
always in the mix. Squabbling, getting at, holding his own
in street fights like the rest of us. Then he’d bounce the spot
and go to an audition. I’d get snatched from the spot and go to
juvenile hall. This went on for many years—casting calls for him,
county jails for me; movie deals for him, state and federal
prisons for me.
Through it all, we maintained our friendship through letters,
phone calls, and visits, always holding the dream that one day
we’d collaborate on something. I pitched this idea to Cliff when
he visited me after the riot and now it’s a book in your hands.
Take it from someone who knows what he’s talking about—you can
change your life from wherever you are right now.
—Gustavo “Goose” Alvarez
On August 8, 2009, I was in Iowa finishing up a heavy scene for a
film I was doing with Adrian Brody and Forrest Whitaker called
The Experiment. It’s loosely based on Philip Zimbardo’s Stanford
prison experiment of 1971, in which regular citizens were
assigned the roles of guards and prisoners for a psychological
study—to disastrous effect.
This particular night was the scene of the big uprising, the
convicts against the newly corrupt guards who had become
sadistic. Shooting this scene was unusually tense because the
director had taken off for a week and we were left to shoot, act,
and riot on our own. There were some injuries, but we dealt with
them and lived to tell the story.
The following morning I got the news that while I was shooting a
riot scene in a movie, my boy Goose was fighting for his very
life. I felt and wished I could have been there to get his
back, as he has always had mine. The odds have never been in his
favor, but somehow he has always managed to prevail; I hoped this
was one of those times.
Never getting a straight story from news outlets, I did
everything I could to get the real story. I took to Twitter and
asked hood friends who lived in the area. I heard grisly details
about point-blank shootings and convicts getting sliced open with
makeshift s of broken windows, but no Goose.
Just when I feared the worst, I got news that he was all right.
We got on the phone and I made plans to go out and see him. He
told me of the event that occurred—a meal shared rather than
bodies destroyed. I could hear the amazement and pride in his
voice. Everything was going to be all right.
—Clifton Collins Jr.
Read more ( javascript:void(0) )