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By Daniel J. Marquez

Prison is, without a doubt, an awful place to be. Within the confines of cold steel, the toughest gangsters weep.

The abandonment of loved ones, the constant harassment from officers, and the evil that permeates the heart of prison is simply... overwhelming. The yard is the heart of prison. Therein pumps the blood of gang activity, drug dealing, face slashing and rape. I live amongst men who do drugs to escape reality and indulge in acts of violence to gain a reputation. How can a man survive in prison in light of such harsh realities? Moreover, how can he escape the nature of this world and look to better himself in preparation for his release into society? These questions flow through my mind daily.

My name is Daniel J. Marquez. On March 24, 2001, I was arrested for multiple counts of armed robbery. I am not innocent. I deserve every bit of the 12-year sentence that was given to me.

I often sit in my cell and interrogate my past. It helps me discover things. I’ve noted that my rebellious attitude ultimately streamed from my own selfish and arrogant worldview. I wanted to feel like the most loved child in the family. I never felt that way. When my mother thought I was old enough, she revealed to me that my biological parents abandoned me. That was a heavy blow. I was so angry, so confused. It was from that moment on that I sought love elsewhere: the streets.

I embraced the streets and made her my home. I loved the streets so much that I would die for her. I thought that the streets loved me, too. What a shame. The streets did not love me. I was mentally and physically abused by her. She would batter my anatomy with sex and drugs. She would fill my mind with violence. The home she provided was the corner of 136th Street and Willis Avenue in the Bronx. Ralphy’s Bodega was my kitchen. The benches outside P.S. 154 became my bedroom. And believe me, rent was high. I had an entire city to impress.

When I first entered the prison system, I had no direction or purpose in life. I lived in prison with the same attitude and instincts that helped me survive on the streets. Not for long, though. When I was forced to stay in my cell for an eighteen-hour lockdown, I began to think soberly and consciously for the first time in a long time. I was not used to this. God injected my mind with one memory that changed my life forever. It was the memory of a victim that I robbed. He was well-dressed and seemed to be on his way to a party. I aggressively approached him, put a gun to his face and demanded his money. He resisted and I began to pistol-whip him. After I stopped hitting him, he stepped away and looked directly into my eyes and told me something I will never forget: “May God bless you.”

As I sat in my cell my eyes began to water. The man’s words rotated relentlessly in my mind: “May God bless you, may God bless you.” To think that I treated him so brutally, and that he spoke so graciously to me, ate me alive. I groaned and groaned, “I’m sorry God, I’M SORRY!” My cries saturated the cell block housing area. Everyone was hearing me, and I didn’t care. When the tears stopped flowing, I felt relief. I felt forgiven. This man spoke life into my corpse. Now I realize that I had an encounter with God.

I presently work as an administrative clerk in Sing Sing’s Chapel of The Redeemer. The pastors here are like fathers to me — making sure I stay focused on ministry, and making sure my schoolwork is getting done. My education has affected me greatly. I came into prison with a fourth grade reading level. After five months of dedication and determination, I received my GED. This accomplishment produced a passionate desire to grow intellectually. Due to prison standards and financial incapacity, I haven’t been able to pursue a college degree. This hasn’t stopped me. I sponge every piece of knowledge I can get from clerical work, welding, custodial maintenance, and American Sign Language programs. Now I see life from a broader scope.

At one time my thoughts revolved around money, sex, and drugs — a typical thug mentality. That life was all I knew. When I started to learn about different cultures around the world, the horrific struggles of third and fourth world countries, support groups for inner cities and business, I started to see that there is more to life than just hanging out on the corner, wasting my life away. As a result of my education, I can see far beyond the corner of 136th Street and Willis Avenue. I am being equipped, both mentally and spiritually, to impact the world for Christ, just as intensely as that faithful servant of God impacted my life with four simple words.

May God bless you.

Editorial Assistant Leah Reddy met Daniel Marquez during a Trinity Television shoot at Sing Sing Prison.This article comes from a series of letters Marquez wrote to Reddy about his life in prison.

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