BHM Part 2: The Lady Lifers & Frank Morgan
Here is my second and concluding chapter for Black History Month this year, where we’ve continued with our theme from 2021 of highlighting formerly incarcerated musicians. Today we feature The Lady Lifers — who I had the privilege of witnessing perform a historical TedX concert — and the incredible jazz musician Frank Morgan.
BL Shirelle
T H E L A D Y L I F E R S
I.
This week's Black History highlight is on The Lady Lifers, a group that is near and dear to my heart. This article will be written from my perspective. I was a first hand witness to this Black history, this woman history. In order to tell it fully I have to start in 2007. That was the first year I was sent to SCI Muncy. Sentenced to 12 years at 18 years old, I was able to see the varying range of women from every race and age – incarcerated. It was sobering. After awhile you can spot the lifers just from the way they speak, with conviction; or how they walk, with distinguished grace and dignity. It is resiliency, a poise that one can only unlock when being faced with one of the most degrading and low standards of quality of life. Life Without Parole.
The first person I met in The Lady Lifers was Lena Brown. Everyone called her Ms. Bert. She was the institution's resident baker for many years, and her homemade bread and cake were the talk of the campus for decades. While still separated from general population (GP) in DCC (“they call it DCC where they do the testing” - check out my verse on First Impressions…), Ms. Bert and her partner Phoebe would come to the classification unit and play bingo with the whole unit. We all looked forward to being with them, and it became the one privilege we had which we cared about being taken away.
When I moved to GP I met some of the women who would later form The Lady Lifers. There was Ms. Brenda Watkins, who loved whipping my ass in cards; Danielle Hadley, one of the best knitters on campus, who knitted me a top tier hat and scarf set; Trina Garnett, who I found out was incarcerated since she was 14 years old, physically and mentally disabled, and had been raped and impregnated by a correctional officer. There was Diane Metzger, who was known to have a genius IQ; Naomi Blount Wilson, the resident superstar choir director and vocalist who taught me to harmonize; and Theresa Battles, who would become a mentor of mine and forced me to create a strategic plan of my life after I returned to prison a second time.
All of these women had been incarcerated since before I was born.
Us young folk loved these women. They loved on us. They held us accountable when necessary. They wanted better for us than what they got out of life and constantly reminded us how blessed we were to have a chance to right our wrongs. We didn't see them as anything other than elders who were deserving of our respect, our time, our assistance. Whether that meant pushing their wheelchair to chow, washing them up if they're unable to do that for themselves, or shutting up when they speak, it was always a pleasure to be in their presence. It was hard to understand what could have landed them here. Hard to see what that judge and jury saw that day. I don't wish to minimize their victims' losses by saying this. It is just my true testimony for the women I spent a decade with, decades removed from whatever horrible circumstances determined their fate.
II.
2014 – It’s nearing the coldest months of winter, and TedX has set up an event of performances and presentations at SCI Muncy. My band BL Shirelle is causing all kinds of havoc at practice while The Lady Lifers are all put together as usual. Or so it seems. Though they chastised us to get it together because we sounded a mess each rehearsal, something is off with The Lady Lifers’ performance: the subject matter. Diane Metzger had written a song called "Lady Lifers" that I don't remember the words to aside from "We're lady liferrrrrs, WE'RE lady liferrrrs" 🎵
It sounded… cute. It was dignified, up tempo, the melody was friendly… but the reason I can't remember the words is because the song wasn't moving. Now that I'm older I understand why. The Lady Lifers just wanted to be a part. Most of them didn't even know what Youtube or TedX was. They wanted to participate, to do their part of offering what they were allowed. They didn't want to ruffle feathers in fear they wouldn't make the final selection. They didn't feel comfortable or empowered to use the platform as a desperate attempt at redemption, no matter how much they felt it inside.
Enter Howard Woodring, a genuinely cool gentleman that worked as a psychiatrist at Muncy. Woodring had come to a rehearsal to check out The Lady Lifers’ performance, and left wondering where their true feelings were; all the things they discussed in the lifer’s group he facilitated, the fears of losing your whole family to distance and time. Some of them had been incarcerated for forty years or more… surely they could share their plight with the world and spark a conversation around justice, revenge, cruelty, rehabilitation and redemption. What's the difference between these things? Which ones are we practicing as a society?
Howard went home and wrote down his viewpoint through song. The result – "This Is Not My Home" – written by Woodring, with music by Naomi Blount Wilson, sung by The Lady Lifers – was a true group effort born of decades of conversations between the ladies of the lifer’s group. Their innermost fears shared with each other, as only one another could understand. Woodring had a front seat to these admissions, and revealed them to the world.
Once the song was created there wasn't a dry eye in rehearsal ever again. No matter how many times it was sung, it was sung with the hunger of being heard, the urgency of being forgotten, the fear of dying alone. The big day arrived, and their performance was epic and perfectly executed. But more than anything I remember the chilling gasps and cries of the audience as each member spoke their name and how many years they had served. It was as if no one there knew what LIFE without parole meant. I knew immediately I was a part of history. "This Is Not My Home" amassed over one million views on YouTube, opening up the conversation around commutation in Pennsylvania which had only been granted to two women since 1989 up until that point. Since that performance, this number has more than doubled to five women, including Lady Lifer Naomi Blount Wilson.
The Lady Lifers not only delivered an incredible song and performance, but became social justice champions who have directly changed a state's trajectory. I couldn't be more humbled that I've been able to love and learn from them 💙
Theresa Battles and I in 2017
III.
Brenda Watkins, The Lady Lifers’ lead singer, is still fighting for her freedom. She has now served 37 years in prison.
Debbie Brown is still fighting for her freedom. She has served 38 years.
Thelma Nichols is still fighting for her freedom. She was moved to SCI Cambridge Springs and has now served 35 years.
Danielle Hadley is still fighting for her freedom. She has served 35 years.
Diane Metzger has since passed away while being housed in the infirmary of SCI Muncy in January 2019.
Trina Garnett was released in November 2019 due to the 2012 Supreme Court ruling barring life without parole sentences for children. She served 42 years.
Lena Brown is still fighting for her freedom. She has been incarcerated 48 years.
Joanne Butler was released on compassionate release due to terminal cancer in October 2019. She passed away November 23, 2019, surrounded by her family.
Theresa Battles was diagnosed with terminal cancer in 2016 and released to hospice on a compassionate release. I got the chance to go visit her before she passed away January 9th, 2017. I spoke with her the day she died and her last words to me were "God is truly good."
Naomi Blount Wilson - Simply Naomi was commuted in 2020 after serving 37 years. She's now a Commutation Specialist for Lt. Gov. Fetterman and a DJC artist 😎
The Lady Lifers are only a small fraction of the women they represent; women who may have taken a life or inflicted serious harm at one point, but they have also saved many more including my own. I will love and honor them forever.
I write this in memory of Sharon "Peachie" Wiggins and many other lady lifers who perished before forgiveness came. AMEN 🙏🏾 💙
F R A N K M O R G A N
It is a rarity for any artist to have their career interrupted for three decades and then be able to make a complete comeback. Which is what makes Frank Morgan's talent so enormous. He was a phenom. He once said the creator told him; “You will play the sax, so if you choose to play it in the penitentiary all the time, so be it.”
Frank Morgan was born in Minneapolis in 1933, but spent most of his childhood living with his grandmother in Milwaukee. Morgan's father Stanley was a guitarist with The Rockets and The Ink Spots. His mother worked at a brothel when she became pregnant with Frank. She did not want him and tried to abort him several times, which would haunt him throughout his life. Morgan took up his father's instrument at an early age, but lost interest the moment he saw Charlie Parker take his first solo with the Jay McShann Band at the Paradise Theater in Detroit.
When he was just 15, Morgan was offered Johnny Hodges's spot in Duke Ellington's Orchestra, but Stanley deemed him too young for touring. Instead he joined the house band at Club Alabam where he backed vocalists including Billie Holiday and Josephine Baker. He was looked at as Charlie Parker’s rightful heir to the alto sax throne.
Following in the footsteps of Parker, Morgan started taking heroin at 17, became addicted, and spent much of his adult life in and out of prison. He supported his drug habit through check forgery and fencing stolen property. Morgan’s first drug arrest came in 1955, the same year his debut album was released, and Morgan landed in San Quentin Prison in 1962. There he formed The San Quentin All Stars, a big band ensemble that drew concert goers from all over the Bay Area.
Fresh out of prison (again) in April 1985, Morgan started recording again, releasing Easy Living that June. He was sober and back like he never left, after a 30 year struggle with addiction and incarceration. He continued to play huge gigs across the world, amazing audiences with his soul-exposing sax play. A jazz legend to the end, Frank Morgan died in Minneapolis in 2007 from complications due to colorectal cancer.
Thank you for sharing your gift with us.
