A letter to a hero

I was asked to send a missive to the hero’s that have engraved significant footprints in my sand. So here I am, writing to you, Mr. Mangelli.

But this is some thing like an inside joke between us, isn’t it?

Nobody knows that I’ve been sending you letters drenched in praise for the last two decades. People would never guess that you have been a father figure to me. On paper it would never make sense!

But life has a way of donning eccentric garb that only a chosen few would find appealing.

I reluctantly entered your domain way back in February of 2000. I was only 17 years young at the time. You had to have been in your 60’s. I was just a lost juvenile delinquent oblivious to my lack of direction. And you were a teacher of tremendous proportions casually making your way towards the door of retirement.

In the beginning, my aroma probably didnt pack a defining scent. You had seen people like myself many times throughout your journey as a teacher in a juvenile correctional facility. Most of those people were just passing through. But me - I was there for the long haul. Roughly two and a half years.

You were teaching out of a class room located in the maximum security unit. For whatever reason, fate steered me to that same unit. That’s how I ended up in your class. Everything has its season. And so I began to rapidly blossom. You often told me how impressed you were with my hunger for knowledge. Your words of encouragement packed a magnificent punch that left bruises on my soul. Nodody else cared about me being a teenager reading encyclopedias and Greek philosophy, but you did.

You discerned something in me, and took the time to continue to nurture me while i was housed in that facility.

And when it came time for me to transfer to the county jail to be with the adults, you chose not to abandon me. You were always there with me. We stayed in contact through letters. Long letters. Because you know me, being a writer - a two page letter just wasn’t enough space to capture the epic scrolls that were unfolding in my brain.

You bared with me, sharing crucial knowledge with me along the way. Knowledge that a young man should know. You really were the only consistent father figure that I had access to at the time. I don’t know if you knew that. I was very grateful for your presence. Very grateful towards the universe for placing you in my life. You didn’t have to be there. It wasn’t your job. I wasn’t your son. You were a senior Italian guy from New Jersey. I was just a black kid from California. Theoretically, our bond should‘ve never transpired.

Theoretically, when I finally received my 23 year sentence at the age of 21, and was shipped off to the adult prison system,you should’ve put me on the shelf and suffocated me in the pillow case of memories. But that didn’t happen either. You continued to stick by side like a nagging shadow.

You reminded me that if I ever needed anything, all I had to do was ask. And that’s exactly what I did. I asked, and asked, and asked again. And each time, you granted my request. Never once did you deny me. That meant a lot to me. Because in prison, if you don’t have money, you’ll starve. You won’t starve literally, but figuratively speaking, if you are forced to survive off of the three meager meals that are provided to you on a daily basis, you’ll be skinny as a chickens leg.

Thank you for not letting me starve.

Thank you for the thousands of dollars worth of books and music that you sent my way.

Thank you for going out of your way to print out valuable information from the internet and sending it to me.

Thank you for buying me subscriptions to the New Yorker. You said if I read that magazine, I would be as smart as anybody from Harvard. Thanks for that.

Thank you for going out of your way to assist me with putting together the manuscript for my first book attempt. That meant a lot to me. Who else would’ve taken the time to do that? Who else would’ve cared?

Thank you for the innumerable amount of letters that you wrote to me.

Thank you for the pictures that you enclosed with those letters.

Thank you for the kind words. You always told me that I was intelligent and gifted. Thank you for telling me those things.

Thank you for never laughing at me for having grandiose visions and desires of traveling the world and being a famous musician. Those visions and desires mean a lot to a kid who has never been anywhere except prison.

Thank you for still being alive when I finally was released from prison 19 years later after we met.

Thank you for the $500 that you gave me during the first few days of my return back to society. I really needed that.

Thank you for the Ford Focus that you sold to me for a measly $400. At the time, I needed that more than anything. Thank you so much.

Thank you for always believing in me.

But most importantly, thank you for the precious time and energy that you donated to me. That’s a priceless gesture that I will never forget. I am forever in debt to you. Thank you Mr. Mangelli.

sincerly,shawn