A Tour of Angola's Law Library
Through My Eyes at Twenty-Four
From the Lockerbox
The first time I saw the law library at the Louisiana State Penitentiary, it sent my heart pounding. I remember pushing open the door—then pulling up to take it in.
Rows of legal reporters, textbooks, dictionaries and writing books stared at me from the shelves, and I stared back.
In the parish jail, I was lucky to get a single book in my hands other than a Bible. I had to sleep with my legal paper and pen under my pillow to stop them from being taken. But here, I could pull books, read cases, request photocopies—the whole works. Some nights, I could even sit at a desk in peace.
From the time I was sentenced to life without parole, old-timers in the parish jail had promised that this law library was where I’d get the help I needed to give my conviction back. That I could rely on its books and materials to navigate the legal hell I’d landed in. And now, here I was. Standing on the threshold, imagining the keys to my freedom.
That first night I walked into the law library, a man named Joe Pecker stuck his head out from between the shelves. “So, you finally made it up here, uh?” he said.
Joe had represented me in disciplinary court months earlier, which is when I first learned the prison had incarcerated legal advisors—what the DOC called “inmate counsel substitutes”—to help us fight our cases and defend our rights.
Joe showed me around the library, and as I followed him through the rows of shelves, one thought kept coming to my mind: ”I’m gonna be the meanest lawyer on the walk.”
But I had a lot to learn.
There were a lot of guys in the law library who understood what I was up against far better than I did. They already knew that people who were unjustly convicted or unfairly tried couldn’t simply give their cases back. Over the months and years that followed, I got to know many of them. They shared their knowledge, and we became friends.
They taught me that merely getting to the law library - important as it was - was only the beginning of a long journey to reach freedom. But thankfully, I didn’t have to take that journey alone.
We worked together for years after I became an inmate counsel substitute. Some of us for decades. Over time, we helped many individuals find a path home, and we helped each other become the meanest group of jailhouse lawyers we could be.
It turned out that the best resource I found in the Main Prison Law Library was one I hadn’t known to expect—friends. And I’m happy to say that many of us still work together to this day.
If you’ve made friends who helped carry you in hard times and pushed you to be better, I’d love to hear about them. It’s always good to be reminded that we can do more together than any one of us can do alone.
Come join us
On July 10, 2025, Sophie and I will launch our book, The Jailhouse Lawyer, at Dillard University in New Orleans with our friends Baldwin & Co. Sr. Helen Prejean, author of Dead Man Walking, will be there to discuss the book with us. Please reserve your tickets so we can save you a seat. We can’t wait to see you!
Books to Prisons Update
Thanks for all your support for our Books to Prisons campaign. You all are awesome! We’re on a roll.
You can read about the campaign here:
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Each month, I highlight an item from my personal archive—something I once kept in my lockerbox at Angola Prison. With only two lockerboxes to hold all our personal possessions, every item I chose to keep carried special meaning. It’s an honor to share them with you here.
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Take care,
Calvin
Calvin, YOU have gotten me though some very hard times with just your plucky optimism and sharp wit. You've pushed me to be and do better in infinite ways, whether via gratitude, kindness, smiling when I didn't feel like it, perseverance, and so much more.
Sóooooo proud of the jailhouse lawyer.