This writer should scare kids away from gang life

This was a breakthrough year for my non-traditional writing student. A talented illustrator, he saw his drawings published in a children's book. A budding author, he had a true crime story accepted by an online noir crime journal.

Published at last!

Oh, all right! So the drawings are in my wife Fran's self-published children's book 'Raccoons Don't Eat Cake” (Eagle Books, Cedar Rapids). And the e-magazine The Crime Factory doesn't pay contributors - at least not yet.

But the State of California would have claimed a sizable hunk of any pay anyway.

My sole writing student is Justin D. Kirk, young former Mexican Mafia signal caller (he is Caucasian) serving life without parole for two gangland murders and a 2005 shootout with police. His goal in 180-degree spin from shocking crime to a search for redemption: Scaring kids away from the gang life. While loathing everything in this man's criminal past, I fully endorse his anti-gang message and I root for him in his resolve to make the rest of his life as productive as possible. I'm on board as a volunteer representing The Writing Academy, a faith-based organization that offers instruction through correspondence courses.

A pastor might see this 'worst of the worst” as one of the 'least of these” cited in Christ's radical, inclusive hospitality (Matthew 25:36): 'I was in prison and you visited me.”

During his first two months under my wing the fledgling student took flight in a way I hadn't bargained for. In October 2009, he busted out of a jail transfer vehicle, led police on a sensational manhunt, holed up in an unoccupied home in a gated community, was captured and spent a year in solitary confinement. He composes pencil-on-tablet paper and corresponds by snail mail. I have not met him.

Two years later he escaped the death sentence - by working undercover with jail anti-gang officers to expose and help convict an inmate who had waged war against Hemet, California, police detectives. The thug asked my student to help arrange murders, all from behind bars. Big mistake! Result: four life sentences for police-hating Nicholas Smit. It was that real-life drama that my student later parlayed into the e-magazine true story.

During the Smit trial the Press-Enterprise of Riverside identified Justin by name, making him a marked man. But a remorseful convict shouldn't hide behind a nom de plume - not if he wants to sound a warning among prospective young gang members. It's a message few others could credibly send. Who better to connect with street punks than a former gang member who writes effectively and - most importantly - says he deserves to spend the rest of his life behind bars. One who knows that while forgiveness is not available in this sphere, redemption could be.

This transformed man typically got his start as an impoverished child of the streets. He doesn't know who his father is - or was. Drug-addicted family members were in no position to help. That made him all the more vulnerable to the drug culture.

At age 11, he joined a neighborhood gang, pledging allegiance to its hierarchy. Like his grubby little chums, he savored the bond between brothers of the street. He didn't realize predators higher in command could compel foot soldiers to commit serious crime - even murder - or themselves lose their lives. Without knowing better, my future student bought into a way of life that really is a way of death.

Today - 21 years later - he writes, in his Crime Factory story: 'I've dropped out of my gang and now dedicate my time to writing. I hope to open people's eyes to the tragedy gang violence can cause. I hope to alter the mind-set of prospective gang members, molding them into ultimately respectable members of society. They must see the need for change and realize that change is possible within us all.”

The nation's prisons hold thousands of former gang members exhausted by war in the streets. Some yearn to steer youth away from the gang culture. A few get their stories circulated, but usually in 'as told to” articles and books where the careful writing is left to a professional. They may even supply the prose themselves. Such literary novices typically draw praise for 'free-flowing style.” So never mind the compositional chaos.

My student, by contrast, embraces writing as a craft - one he can polish every day of his life.

He has emerged as a teacher. Having earned high school equivalency status in juvenile detention years ago, he now helps prepare fellow inmates for General Education Development (GED) testing.

He has become a keen observer of the social scene, noting, for example, how strange it seems to watch a prison yard riot and not join in, as was his custom as recently as five years ago.

This former death penalty candidate has contributed to Incarcerated Voices, a radio-based exploration 'into the circumstances and conditions of incarceration through the eyes, ears and hearts of prisoners.”

He is writing a short book for middle-schoolers who somehow think there's anything glamorous about gang life.

Perhaps my student's most compelling point in reaching troubled youngsters is that after many years of crime, he admits he deserves his fate: life without chance of parole. He realizes millions of children of the streets grow up without turning to crime. But those veering in that direction need intervention.

In his writings, Justin Kirk raises a subject seldom mentioned in crime-and-punishment reporting - heartbreak and hardship suffered by convicted criminals' loved ones.

I learned more about those home connections when Justin said who should receive complimentary copies of the children's book he illustrated. First, his beloved aunt in Victorville. She has been his lifeline. In Arizona, there's this half brother who has stood by Justin. And his longtime defense attorney.

They are too old for a cartoon raccoon, but last we heard, the public defender's tiny grandson was loving it.

' Jerry Elsea is retired after 40 years with The Gazette. This writing is a shortened version of a paper presented earlier this year to the Cedar Rapids Literary Club. Comments: jflz20@imonmail.com