Today we’d like to introduce you to Joseph Harris.
Joseph, we appreciate you taking the time to share your story with us today. Where does your story begin?
My first memories are my dad beating my mom, and my older brother. Both of my parents were alcoholics. One time my dad, put my brother and me outside, in our underwear, in the middle of winter. All so he could beat my mother in peace. My parents ended up getting divorced when I was 5. I never really heard from my dad again, and my mom put me in a mental institution (My Mom felt that the divorce was “devastating” to me). My mom was now a single alcoholic mother. My older brother moved out after a huge fight with our mother. (He is 9 years older than me). This just left me and my year old brother in the house, along with our alcoholic mother of course. Things were ok in Alief. (Southwest Houston, Texas). Then my mom met this dude named Keith (A British dude who was married, with 6 kids and a wife dying of cancer) he left his family for my mom. I hated this guy. They got serious enough to where when I was 12 we all moved out of the country, to Bahrain (He was/is a “prestigious” College Professor). We lived there for a year until there was a death in the family.
We moved to Corpus Christi, as soon as we received news of the death. We were there for a bit. But mom decided she needed a vacation. She dropped us off at grandma’s (her mom’s) and left the country to England, to see Keith. While she was there they were in a car accident, a bad car accident, bad enough to put my mother in ICU. I am in 6th grade at this point. The only parent I know is across the ocean in ICU. It made me sick man. She eventually got better. And moved in with her parents. (Where she dropped us off.) We all lived there for a few years. My mom never left the room we stayed in. She would just drink herself to sleep in there. The rest of the family would be talking about my mom. I felt it was my job to stand up for her. Because she was my mom, you know? That caused all kinds of problems, because I’m bad at holding back with my mouth. Then one day….my mom asked me to help sneak her to the airport. She didn’t want anyone to know. So I helped. Cause she was my mom. She caught a plane to Hong Kong. She called periodically for almost 2 years, just to check in I suppose. She didn’t even tell my little brother she was leaving. Just snuck away. She went to Hong Kong for Keith.
Mom randomly showed up one day and took us from grandma’s, we moved back to Houston. I was so pumped. Back to where I am from, you know? Home!! Anyways we get back to Houston and things are different, Mom is always on the phone, I got to make sure my little brother gets to school (which made me miss class, and I would get in trouble from the school and my mom). I would have to make dinner a lot of the time, because she was passed out drunk. Then Keith came to our house (which he paid for, while still being married) I had had enough. I refused to go to school when he came to our house. I was about 13 or 14. My mom was telling me I couldn’t go watch wrestling (W.W.F. –World Wrestling Federation) because I didn’t go to school. But at this point, I felt I did enough adult things that you couldn’t tell me shit. (A similar situation my older brother and mom fought about, which led to him moving out). Keith didn’t like my mouth, and picked me up by my neck, then threatened to kill me by breaking my neck, right in front of my mother. Till this day she denies this, (I would too if I were her.) Keith had always kind of slapped me around. Hit me in the face. (Open handed) and I didn’t like the way he was. He ended up having to go back to Hong Kong after his trip to my house. Once he left, my mom had words for me.
Calling me an “asshole” And a “prick like your father”.
I couldn’t take it anymore and I snapped. I called her a “fucking bitch.”
She slapped me in the face, and then out of a complete reaction I punched her. (I’ve regretted this many, many times).
She calls the cops trying to get me arrested. But the apartment managers of the apartments we lived in knew me. The paid me to do odd jobs around the apartments. They were good people. Ed and Carol. So when the cops showed up, so did the apartment managers. They knew the situation I was in and explained it to the officer. The cop came in and said “yall just stay away from each other, unless you both want to go to jail, for mutual assault.” My mom didn’t want that, so we both agreed to chill out. The next week. I came home and my little brother was locked out of the house, we beat on the door trying to get in, but no answer. We had to call the police. They found her passed out. Next to the bathtub. With razors and the water running……we think she was trying to commit suicide due to the “context clues” but was too fucked up to finish the job. Ambulances, fire trucks and cops were all at my apartment. And I had nowhere to go, because they took my mom. Ed and Carol (the apartment managers) were asking for family members names so they could look them up in the phone book (all this moving around and my mom pissing other family members off just completely cut us off from contact with all of them). We ended up finding a family member living in Rosenberg Texas. (20 min outside of Houston) My Aunt Kathy, we called her and she agreed to take us in.
Kathy came to pick up Ben and I (my little brother, we are 5 years apart).
We went with her. I ended up living there for a while. Ben went into a family rehab with my mom (he was young enough for the program, I wasn’t.) the apartment was being paid for by Keith, while Ben and my mom were in this place, and I stayed with my Aunt Kathy and her family (my uncle and 2 awesome cousins) I started my freshman year of high school there (now at 7 different schools since the 5th grade) and things were nice there for the most part, any drama was because of something I did was alone. My brother and mom were gone. I wasn’t sure how to operate in a family environment, I felt like I didn’t have a role. I’ve never had a real family before. So things did clash, plus I was a young teenager. All this wasn’t a great mixture. My mom was insisting to Kathy that they put me in a boy’s home. (Sending me away always seemed to be her answer) I ran away from Kathy’s house, got back to Houston on my own, and stayed with some friends for a few days. Then my family had tracked me down and I had to go back, but not to a boy’s home, to Kathy’s house, which was a nice victory for me.
Eventually, my mom got out of rehab and I had to go back and stay with her, and Ben. Things got worse. I was fighting with my mom all the time. I was so angry. I was mad. At everyone. See when my mom went into rehab, people supported her, (rightfully so, family and friends) but I was so angry with her, I would do things that weren’t right, to hurt her feelings or make her upset, and some family (with a lack of understanding on my behalf I felt) would demand I would respect my mother more. Would kind of take away the right I had to be angry, and that would make me angry. Finally, my mom agreed to sign over temp. Custody to my aunt Ursula (who had kids my age, and spent a lot of time around their family as a child) she was in Austin, so here I am moving again. But this is what I wanted. I wanted to go here. I always felt close to these people. They always “took me as I was”.
Moving to Austin was the best thing that could have happened to me. Sure, I was in a new school, but my cousin was already in school there, so id already kind of have a group. And it’s where I wanted to be. I got to Austin during winter break, my freshman year of high school, (now 9 schools since 5th grade.) But I was happy to be there.
When I got there it was cool, going to school, tried put for the baseball team (I played when I could since t ball) I didn’t make the team, but not because of ability, because I stopped going, I slowly became more interested in weed, among other drugs. I really don’t remember a lot around this time. Just that I thought drugs were the best thing ever, and couldn’t believe d.a.r.e. had lied to me. What I didn’t realize is how much pain I was carrying around with me at this point, how much resentment and anger I had. How nobody could tell me anything because of “what I come from” I stopped being a good kid somewhere along the way. Or maybe everything I had dealt with at this point was too much for me and I didn’t know how to act. I’m sure part of it was just being a teenager. I just wasn’t your average teenager, at this point in my life. The home situation in Austin was great and I couldn’t have asked for a more supportive group of folks, they had my best interest at heart, and sometimes I didn’t even see that. My behavior got worse. Not only had I been using drugs, I had begun to do illegal things to acquire money for these drugs. (Me and my cousin) we both got into legal trouble. (I am leaving a lot out to respect the privacy of others.)
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
I knew a kid who had a PlayStation 2. I wanted it. So I went to his house to burglarize the home. And take the PlayStation along with any other valuables there may have been. I was 17 at this time. A legal adult in the state of Texas. I went to the backyard of the home. I got caught back there, with a broken window and a pair of socks on my pocket (gloves, professional I know) I was eventually chased down and citizens arrested. I went to jail for attempted burglary of a habitation. Along with a few other charges. I was released on house arrest. I ended up cutting my ankle monitor off after a few months of wearing it as well as failing numerous drug tests, because I “wanted to go out and party” (mind you, I am an adult in Texas) I continue to live where I was released to, even though I knowingly violated the conditions of my release. I wake up one morning; the police are in my room. They yank me out of bed, and take me to jail in my boxers; they wouldn’t allow me to get dressed. Upon departure from my house, they left the front door open, and the dogs got out. Meanwhile, I was on my way to jail. I was in jail for about 4 or 5 months until I signed for 6 years probation, thinking I was going to be able to go home. So I go in front of the judge he agrees to the probation, but as “a condition of probation” I had to attend a state-mandated rehab. I could be there anywhere from 90 days to 2 years. (I don’t know if it’s true or not, but rumor has it the judge that sentenced me to that rehab, is partial owner of the rehab facility) I was there for 11 months. (During this time, my mom came back into my life. My older brother was always there when he could be, which was waaaaaaay more than my mom.) Upon release from rehab, I had to go to a 3/4 house. (Similar to a halfway house just less strict) I moved to a 3/4 house in Houston, was there for a month or so, and then moved back to Austin because I wanted to be with my friends. (Still in a 3/4 house) I get to Austin, and slowly start partying, just drinking but then I get arrested at a party for “evading arrest” (I ran from a k-9 police dog that had already been released, I had been under-age illegally drinking, but I did think that releasing the dog was a bit much) turns out they were looking for a car burglar, and it wasn’t me. But they took me to jail for running from the dog, thus “evading arrest.”
I went to jail, for 4 months, got time served on the evading arrest, but violated my 6-year probation 14 months into it. I was released from jail on the evading arrest and knew they would be looking for me. So I lived on the run. Couch surfing. No job. Calling sonic telling them they messed up my order, and I need free food. (I never had the money to buy a burger in the first place). After about 2 years of this, I decided to turn myself in. When I turned myself in they said there was no warrant, and to get out of there. So I did. I got a job and started living somewhat right. Then I got a letter in the mail, saying I was a fugitive from justice. And that there was a warrant. So I went back on the run. 4 months after I turn 21, I get picked up for my warrant, and I’m back in jail.
So I am sitting in jail. Not even sure what my sentence carries at this point. I thought it could be a state jail felony, or a 3rd-degree felony (state jail 6 months – 2 years day for day 3rd degree 2-10 years with the chance for early release on parole.) I remember I couldn’t sleep the night before court. I was literally up for 36 hours straight when I went to court. My lawyer (a court-appointed who couldn’t make it so she sent a substitute) showed up to court, came straight to me and says “the D.A. says if you sign today, he will give you 10.” I replied, “Isn’t that the max?” She says “Yeah….(she didn’t get up or anything at no point in this conversation) but he said if you sign right now he will let you off with a 7 year sentence.” I said “No.”
Again, without getting up or anything says “He said 6 is his final offer or we can go to a probation hearing.” So I signed for 6 years in T.D.C.J. (how did she know what the D.A. offer was before talking to me? And if she knew 6 was the lowest offer, why did she offer me 10 and 7? I got back to my cell. Called my grandma and told her “Grandma, they gave me 6.” She replies “6 months?” I said “no grandma 6 years.” I cried. I’m feeling like not only have I lost my family. I’ve lost my life. 6 years. I’m 21. 6 years. I am now on the list to catch “chain” to the big house.
My day comes and I get to the big house. I used to think I was a gangster, and then I got here. Razor wire. Huge fences. A complex. Loud. Riding up to this scene in the bus, I realized, shit was about to get real, real quick. I get to. The intake unit. And it’s clear I am just a number. Taking tests. Asking about my history. Going through medical clearances. We were cattle. After about a week of this, they shipped me off to another prison. (My mom and Ben have moved to Europe without letting anybody know. And leaves a box of my stuff on my older brother’s front porch. My mom never wrote me 1 letter when I was down.)
When I get to the new unit. I have to prove myself, with fighting. To prove I deserve respect. For prison, things are pretty chill. I have a few fights, nothing crazy though. I get a letter saying one of my close friends has passed away due to an overdose, and I just remember feeling completely alone. Don’t get me wrong, I met some good people when I was down (weird, right?) but no one is your “friend” gangs and race rule all. So I got adjusted to prison life. Working the hoe squad (cutting grass with a hoe) just doing what I can to get by. Going to school when the opportunity was there. In the summer of 2005, hurricane Rita hit Beaumont Texas. The hurricane tracker had the hurricane as a direct hit to where I was located. I am eating sleeved saltine crackers. Watching the news when shit hits the fan. I see the warden on TV saying we have been evacuated. But we haven’t. I am watching this from my cell. I get up to get some water ( because eating saltine crackers in a metal building in a Texas summer with no a\c makes you thirsty) when someone shouts “hey, they cut off our water!”
Well, fuck!
The evacuation process starts and it’s like a movie. It’s crazy. Inmates were doing what we wanted guards were scared. It was chaos. They ended up moving us across the street. (They just put is and 2 other prisons in the nearest sturdy structure) turns out, that structure was a hospice prison unit. I don’t mean to be insensitive but the superdome didn’t have shit on this. Mother fuckers with aids and shit bags on. Don’t know who is sick and who isn’t. 1 of 5 white dudes out of hundreds of people (that matters in prison.) And I’m still thirsty. Inmates calling each other husband and wife (which there is nothing wrong in my eyes with homosexuality, I think I was in awe because of the whole situation) so some guards come in. With a 5 gallon bucket of water. We are supposed to share this between 300 inmates (or so)
First thing I hear is “doing let the white boys get any water.”
The first thing I think is, looks like I’m going to catch an ass whooping over some water.
I get up to get some water, bring my cup, and this white dude tries to hand me his cup and says “get me a cup too.” I told that dude “you got me fucked up. I’m getting my ass beat for my water only.” So I go, get my water and nothing happens. I guess you just had to have the balls.
After a few days in this place, they ship me to a gym, in a prison. This gym is my home in the winter months north of Dallas (I think) and it’s freezing. Here is where I found out I am being released on parole, but in a whole year from now. The year goes pretty smoothly. Run into a few problems. I end up getting transferred back to the prison I was evacuated from. I’m there like 6 more months and then my release day comes. There is a certain prison you are released from in Texas called “the walls” (allegedly bonny and Clyde have history here?) the day I am being released everyone seems to be leaving. Except me. Then they come and tell me that I have warrants in Austin. They will be coming to pick me up. But if they aren’t there with in 15 min, they were going to let me out anyway. So I am sitting there…like damn then I realized I wrote a few checks (I knew they were hot when I wrote them, just kind of forgot about them) and that’s what they were coming for. So like 2 min before she was going to let me go. Williamson County walks in, puts me in cuffs and takes me to Austin.
Upon release of the walls unit there are golden gates you have to walk through, those are the prettiest jail bars I had seen in my life. I go to Williamson county jail. Sit a day for the checks and I am released. I have 4 years of parole to do……………..
Today, I am married. I have a beautiful 6-year-old daughter that is absolutely incredible. I have a good job. I got off parole in 2010. I have had struggles between my release and now but I am more interested in showing you the final result. I can make rent every month. Afford my car payment. Every once in a while I can make a show I want to see or a movie. There is food in the pantry. I can send my daughter to things she would like to do (sports, arts and crafts, whatever she wants). I am not an alcoholic. I have given my daughter more in 6 years than my father or mother ever gave me. I am a proud responsible father. I adore my grandmother and my aunts for all of their help, love, and support. I don’t speak with my mother, father, or little brother.
I have recently picked up standup comedy and music. Because I can laugh at all this now. I am a creative mind with a lot to share. You see, I used to just want to have it normal, a normal family l, and a normal life, just give me regular everything, but now I just want my family. The one I’m building.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
I am unique. Having been to prison gives me credibility where I may otherwise not have any. I’ve always been the funny guy, and have always known good music thanks to my brother JD. I’m most proud of representing my brother in a way no one else could. A funny beat maker.
Alright so before we go can you talk to us a bit about how people can work with you, collaborate with you or support you?
Follow me. Give me your ideas. Always down to collaborate. Always looking for reasons to be in H town. Email for any inquires. Joeyd512ax@gmail.com.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/joey_d_512/
