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Friday's Internet Edition, November 21, 2008.
The rarest of lifers: a parolee after 30 years
Fitzgerald one year after his release
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The smile says it all. Frank ‘Chui’ Fitzgerald is a changed man, after spending a majority of his life in prison, and is now a part of our community since his parole in 2007.
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By Gwen Stevenson
Staff Writer
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Six foot seven, 70-year-old Frank ‘Chui’ Fitzgerald was born in Chicago to a 13-year-old mother; Fitzgerald never knew his dad.
“I loved my mom, but she told me at an early age, ‘Don’t call me mom,’” said Fitzgerald. “I felt like more of an imposition; I had to learn to duck.”
He recalls when he was around seven and a half years old, he watched out the window as the police took her away as they rounded up all the street walkers. He never saw her again.
Not having other family members, he stayed at the apartment for few days, and then one day decided to go out, getting locked out and couldn’t get back into his home. He was suddenly on his own at seven and a half.
“I saw things at seven and a half that an average man doesn’t see in a lifetime,” said Fitzgerald.
He was finally picked up for stealing, just to survive, and was put into juvenile hall and then ended up being placed in a foster home.
“But I ran away, back to my old place on 47th Street,” Fitzgerald said. “I waited, in case my mom came back.”
But she never did, and Fitzgerald’s first teachers ended up being pimps, dope dealers and con men, as he described them. He basically lived in the hallway, stealing to eat.
Fitzgerald had previously lost his hair at three years old, as a result of whooping cough.
“Back then, having no hair was not in fashion,” said Fitzgerald. “I grew up being a very violent person; I learned to fight back.”
At about nine years old, he came up with an idea to make some money. He stole coal, paper, wood and bricks, and sold hot bricks to the streetwalkers. He would charge a dollar to re-warm it.
“I also made deliveries with a little red wagon,” said Fitzgerald.
He didn’t really have anyone to talk to or trust.
“It burrowed up in me,” he said, “a lot of anger, hurt, frustration, but never told anyone.”
Eventually a con man posed as his father and took him under his wing, and Fitzgerald was able to get by.
He did attend high school and graduated all-city with college scholarships for basketball, but he didn’t accept them. He didn’t bother with college because people told him it wasn’t worth it.
Instead, he was given four girls to work for him as prostitutes. He didn’t realize that one of the girls was the daughter of the chief of police. When she was arrested, he got beat up and was told to get out of the city by nightfall.
“They kicked me out of Chicago,” said Fitzgerald. “I came to California to try to do the same thing.”
Frank was convicted of burglary and ended up in San Quentin prison from 1964 to 1967.
“I was surrounded by gang members.” said Fitzgerald. “I couldn’t sleep, I would pace all night long, I’d get madder and madder.”
Because of violence there, he became the leader of one of the gangs and was sent to Folsom State prison in 1968. Folsom was where you proved yourself. Finally, he got out on parole.
Fitzgerald’s next conviction was for the first-degree murder of a rival gang leader. He was sent to Soledad and given a sentence in 1977 of seven years to life in prison.
He continued to be a leader of a gang while in prison, running two of the yards.
Sometimes, inmates would get extra food from the cafeteria, and Fitzgerald was not getting much, so one day he got fed up.
“I tried to bend a tray around a guard’s head,” said Fitzgerald. “I got taken to the hole.”
The hole is solitary confinement. He knew there would be trouble; he would probably get beaten up. He was sitting on the edge of his bed and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor on his knees, crying.
“Now, there’s four things I was always taught never to do; never cry, never get on your knees, never tell anyone they hurt you, and never betray a friend,” said Fitzgerald. “I was doing two of those four things. I don’t know how I even got down there (on my knees). It scared me.”
He explained that whatever it was, it was more powerful than anything else.
“Jesus Christ, or the Holy Spirit, the hand of God.” said Fitzgerald.
In the cell was a Gideon Bible; he laid down on his bed, grabbed that Bible and laid it on his chest, and closed his eyes. He was waiting for that prison guard to come and rough him up, but nothing ever happened; no one touched him.
After seven months in solitary, he was back on the yard. All the gang members he had been in charge of came up to him. He told them, “I quit” in the middle of the yard. You don’t quit a gang while in prison and live to tell about it.
“I didn’t care what would happen. I told them what happened to me, but I never felt fear,” Fitzgerald said. “Nobody came at me.”
After that, he ended up at the California Men’s Colony when they kicked out all the lifers. He remembers being in a prayer circle with 100 or 200 inmates; he also went forward during a chapel service and gave his life to God.
“It all became clear to me,” said Fitzgerald. “I was living in the shadow of God. He was the One who brought me to my knees; he is the One who brought tears to my eyes.”
He was transferred to Mule Creek Prison in Ione in 1992. Fitzgerald met Pastor Jeff McEachron in 1995 when McEachron was visiting the inmates while doing chapel services there. He started to talk about Father’s House, a re-entry home for Christian men coming out of prison.
Fitzgerald knew he was up for parole, and in 2002 was granted a parole date. But Governor Gray Davis revoked the parole. Davis only allowed six lifers to be released during his five years in office.
Fitzgerald was again denied parole a few years later, that time by Governor Schwarzenegger. But the second time he was given a release date. A governor can grant or deny parole, or refuse to review it. Schwarzenegger chose not to review the file, which is basically washing his hands of the case.
From that one conviction in 1977, Fitzgerald had been in prison for 30 years, and adding all the other years up, for most of his adult life.
“I told everyone, ‘I’m going home.’” said Fitzgerald. “Everyone thought I was joking; they said, ‘Yeah, right, sure you are Chui.’”
Fitzgerald has been a free man for one year; he was released on March 21, 2007 after 30 years in prison.
He went to live at Father’s House in Galt. He was only the fourth lifer to be freed in California that year. He came away from prison with an AA degree and a Bachelor’s degree in social science, with a 3.91 GPA, very proud of that accomplishment.
“I busted all my buttons,” said Fitzgerald.
He was the first and only lifer so far with that type of crime to walk out of that yard.
“I am carrying the hope of a lot of guys who have turned their lives around,” said Fitzgerald. “Anyone that doesn’t believe there’s a God should experience what I did; they’ll believe.”
Fitzgerald’s parole officer Jeff Shaw said he likes to think of Frank as a time capsule.
“When you consider what has happened in your own life, and what has happened in the world since he was locked up in 1977, it’s pretty amazing how well he has adapted to the changes since he has been out of prison.” said Shaw. “I’ve found that with people that have spent a long time in prison, they pretty much stay locked in the time frame of when they left the streets, pertaining to styles, attitudes and social skills.”
Shaw explained that, somehow, Fitzgerald has managed to stay with the times and adapt to 2008.
“Because of his status as a lifer, his parole supervision is under a little more scrutiny then other parolees,” said Shaw, “… but I don’t think I’ve ever had a more responsible or interesting person on my caseload.”
“I ain’t got a penny in my pocket,” said Fitzgerald, “but I’ve got everything I want.”
He has even published poetry and creates masterpieces with the art of wood burning. The smile on his face shows that he is a changed man.
“Ever since 1977, God was chasing me,” said Fitzgerald. “I’ve been chasing Him ever since.”
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