A journey from San Quentin’s Death Row to California State Prison Corcoran. What’s Next?

Edward Charles III, known to his peers as Duke Charles, arrived at San Quentin at age 27 and entered what felt like a never-ending nightmare. 

He was only 22 years old when he was arrested and charged with a triple murder. After a lengthy trial, which included four trials, he was convicted in 1999 and sentenced to die on San Quentin’s infamous Death Row.

Now 53, Charles can never forget the day he passed through the prison gates. The historic penitentiary, built in 1852, featured cement walls that ascended toward the skyline and gun towers that loomed large in the background. His heart raced at the thought of what evil awaited him behind those prison walls. He would soon find out.

“By the time I arrived on Death Row, I was angry at the world,” Charles said. “The reality was that my life was over, and the feeling of despair began to set in due to the fact that I would take my last breath in this godforsaken place.”

Little did he know that that was not necessarily the case. In 2022, after hundreds of executions since the inception of Death Row, dozens of lawsuits, and a 19-year hiatus on carrying out the death penalty, California Gov. Gavin Newsom decided reform was necessary. He ordered the state to shut down Death Row within two years and transfer its residents to prisons throughout the state. 

News of the closure of San Quentin’s Death Row sent shockwaves throughout the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR). For the almost 700 condemned persons who called San Quentin home, this meant life as they knew it was about to take a drastic turn.

Duke Charles was one of these men. It took a long time for him to get there.

Duke Charles’ Life on Death Row — and in The Hole

On his first day at San Quentin in 1999, correctional officers wasted no time rushing Charles off a transportation bus. They escorted him through gloomy hallways to his new living quarters. Men destined for Death Row are initially sent to the Adjustment Center, also known as The Hole, where some of the most recalcitrant gang members are kept, while their housing assignments are finalized. 

Once secured inside, the door to his cell shut and locked, and Charles sat on an empty bunk, stripped of all his property. The only things in the cell were a thin prison-issued bedroll, Charles, and his racing thoughts.

He pondered what his life would consist of on The Row. Would he appeal his death sentence or speed up the process? Many men spent decades appealing their cases, and Charles was not sure if that option represented worse torture than facing the death chamber. 

Abruptly, his thoughts were interrupted by the anguished screams echoing down the hallway. 

“Possibly another condemned resident coming to the realization of their fate,” Charles thought. “The screams did not sound natural, more similar to a wounded animal — a scream one might hear inside a psychiatric hospital.”

Despite his fears, Charles wore the persona of a tough guy. For Charles, it was his first time imprisoned and he knew enough to understand that the strong survived and the weak were preyed upon. He admits now that he had a bad attitude when he first came to prison. 

A “Mountain of Misery”

One week into his imprisonment, Duke Charles stepped into a classification hearing. This would determine his housing placement and serve as an introduction to the rules and regulations once he became housed on The Row.

Upon entrance, he immediately caught sight of the associate warden. Charles still remembers her demeanor. 

“She resembled a man-hating mountain of misery,” he said. 

He sat quietly, observing her every move.

Although Charles felt intimidated by the presence of the administration and brass, he stood 6 feet 1 inch tall with piercing brown eyes, a muscular build and goatee, and looked fairly intimidating himself. With determination to prove his toughness, he felt ready for the showdown. 

Unbeknownst to Charles, having a goatee was not in compliance with grooming standards at San Quentin during this time. The associate warden, eager to pounce and not intimidated in the least, had no problem reminding Charles, “While at my prison, you will adhere to the grooming standards and shave off your beard.” 

Charles thought it humorous and responded, “I’ll shave mine when you shave yours.” 

This comment meant that, instead of moving to East Block where the other Death Row residents were housed, he would remain in The Hole for another 18 months with those on Death Row who were considered a nuisance.

Prison was a horrible place, but the living conditions in The Hole were especially appalling. As officers walked their rounds, incarcerated men sprayed them with the contents of bags filled with urine and feces, an assault known as gassing. In apparent retaliation, the officers would not clean the hallways, leaving them unsanitary and foul-smelling.

The reality was that my life was over, and the feeling of despair began to set in due to the fact that I would take my last breath in this godforsaken place.

To Charles’ surprise, San Quentin authorities allowed men in The Hole to spend time on the exercise yard, although it was only provided sparingly. Approximately 20 men at a time could get out, perhaps twice a week, for two hours at a time. 

Charles spent a week in isolation before he had an opportunity for a glimpse of sunshine and a taste of fresh air. He looked forward to a chance to socialize with other peers. Yet Charles had not been on the recreation yard 30 minutes before a man was stabbed to death. This was his introduction to one of the most notorious prisons in the country.

The Shock of East Block

Eighteen months later, Charles was transferred from the Adjustment Center to East Block, where the other condemned residents were housed. In contrast to The Hole, where the silence was eerie, East Block was a madhouse, stacked five tiers high with men shouting from one tier to the next. The musty odor of men exercising was noticeably present, combined with food spices and dirty laundry. 

On East Block, Charles also encountered high-profile residents whom he’d only read about in newspapers or recognized from the local news. Men such as convicted serial killer and rapist Richard Ramirez, known as the “Night Stalker,” or Stanley “Tookie” Williams, credited for founding the legendary Crips gang in Los Angeles, who infamously became the last person executed at San Quentin by lethal injection. 

The first night Charles spent on East Block is etched in his mind forever. After the lights went out, Charles lay awake, staring at the ceiling and meditating on his thoughts about his new environment. Suddenly, he noticed his ceiling begin to move. 

“At this point, I figured I must be losing my mind,” Charles said. “In a short time, I had witnessed enough to drive a man insane.” 

To his surprise, the movement above was not a hallucination. The switch of a light revealed hundreds of roaches crawling around the ceiling.

The next 25 years would be no different. Charles witnessed many acts of violence, suicides, and executions carried out by the CDCR. This created a perfect recipe for a hopeless existence. 

“The Row was designed to break a man’s spirit, and I had absolutely no hope of ever getting off The Row,” he said.

The End of Death Row

It took many people by surprise when, in 2022, Newsom announced his plan to dismantle San Quentin’s Death Row, the largest in the country. The plan built upon an executive order Newsom signed in 2019, which placed a moratorium on executions in California. Newsom’s moratorium gave at least a temporary reprieve to the 737 condemned residents awaiting execution. Newsom also withdrew the state’s lethal injection protocol and shuttered the execution chamber.

“Our death penalty system has been, by all measures, a failure,” Newsom said in a press release. “It has discriminated against defendants who are mentally ill, black and brown, or can’t afford expensive legal representation. It has provided no public safety benefit or value as a deterrent. It has wasted billions of taxpayer dollars. Most of all, the death penalty is absolute. It’s irreversible and irreparable in the event of human error.”

Newsom had a vision for how California could treat its condemned residents differently. His objective was to reform The Row. In the first step of his plan, condemned persons would be relocated to 25 prisons throughout the state, thus providing them an opportunity to integrate with the general population. Next, they would be afforded the option to participate in rehabilitation programs, as opposed to Death Row, where such programs were unavailable. Last, job assignments would be allowed specifically as a way to pay victims’ restitution fines.

Soon thereafter, CDCR initiated the Condemned Inmate Transfer Program (CITP), and began to transfer all condemned inmates off San Quentin’s Death Row.

After more than two decades on The Row, Charles was selected to be a part of CITP, and once again, he was placed on a bus. He landed at California State Prison, Corcoran. In recent years, Old Corcoran has evolved into a more rehabilitative institution. However, the prison was scarred with a history of bloodshed and scandal. 

Noteworthy were the notorious gladiator fights; an investigation revealed that in the 1990s, prison officers were orchestrating fights between inmates and placing bets on the winners. Furthermore, Corcoran was home to one of three Security Housing Units (SHU), which engaged in the controversial practice of indeterminate, long-term solitary confinement until courts overturned the procedure in 2015.

New Sensations: Life in Corcoran

“Arriving at CSP-Corcoran was a culture shock,” said Charles. “Contrary to the stories people spoke about the place, the atmosphere was settling, even peaceful compared to The Row, where chaos was the norm.”

The sight of fresh, green, watered grass on the prison yard was surreal, Charles recalled. There was an excessive amount of movement. These newfound freedoms caused him anxiety. He was not accustomed to seeing incarcerated people traveling from their housing units to and from education, work assignments, or self-help groups. In addition, his door constantly opened for yard release, hourly unlocks, or day room activities.

The first week at Corcoran, Charles attended night yard, where he reclined on a bleacher and gazed up at the stars, something he hadn’t done in over 25 years. He realized that he must stick out to others as a green brush in a barren land. For this reason, he gravitated toward other CITP residents. Unconsciously, they shared an unspoken bond, a similar fate, a sentence of death.

Noticeably, the population at Corcoran remained cautious when approaching CITP residents. Possibly, there was a fear of the unknown. Obviously, many of the men who arrived from The Row were convicted of heinous acts of violence. This caused many to keep condemned persons at an arm’s length. 

“When I witnessed the first Death Row inmate arrive, I immediately felt the reality of danger in prison,” said Corcoran resident Norberto Gonzalez. “My sense of awareness was sparked at a level I hadn’t felt since I left a level four max security prison.”

Correctional Officer C.M. Torres, who has worked for the Department of Corrections for 23 years, was interested in observing the men arriving as part of CITP, many of whom would be assigned to her building. 

“There was no fear of working around or having CITP persons housed in my unit. I expected that after being confined for such an extensive period of time at San Quentin’s Death Row, they would appreciate their new conditions,” Torres said. “My interest was to observe psychologically how CITP residents would adapt to their new environment.”

Torres’ objective was to assist these individuals’ integration into the general population. This entailed assisting them with job assignments, education, and rehabilitation programs. 

Torres viewed the process as Nature vs. Nurture, by which she meant that, while at San Quentin, these condemned individuals only needed to survive, which was their nature. Now, they had the opportunity to seek support and be nurtured back into a social environment.

Challenges in Integration

New ventures never arise without new challenges. CITP arrivals who were promised opportunities such as job assignments or rehabilitative programs would soon learn these promises came with restrictions. Safety and security still remained the institution’s top priority. The most coveted jobs or programs were unavailable, either because some areas were off-limits for condemned persons or programs were at capacity. Many months would pass before such opportunities would be available for condemned persons.

“The transition was difficult and I couldn’t foresee the program working for me,” said Justin Thomas, a friend of Charles and a fellow CITP participant. 

Thomas believed the state was providing a false sense of hope.

“My mind was conflicted. I spent so much time trying to get to Death Row, and if I’m being completely honest, I wasn’t buying into the whole rehabilitation process,” he said. “My belief was that, at any moment, we could all be forced onto a bus and driven straight to our execution.”

Back on Death Row, Charles and Thomas had been as close as brothers. They were each other’s support system. In an effort to continue their journey together, both requested a transfer to CSP-Corcoran. They based their decision on a single program offered at the facility, the Paw Estate Rescue and Shelter, Inc.’s PAWs to Prison Training Program. 

Growing up, both men had raised dogs. Reaching a prison that offered such a program was their primary goal. It only added to their disappointment to learn that PAWs was offered on a yard on which condemned persons were not permitted.

Eventually, the tides began to turn for Charles and Thomas. Charles obtained his first job as an Americans with Disabilities Act worker. His job description entailed assisting the incarcerated population who were mobility-impaired. He helped residents in wheelchairs meet their medical appointments or reach other destinations throughout the facility. Surprisingly, his job opportunity arose from an unlikely source. 

“Asking for help was not my strong suit,” said Charles. “So when I approached Officer Torres, I expected little to nothing. However, she went above and beyond to make a call and, next thing, I was employed.” 

In addition to a new job, he also was accepted into an honorable program called REACH, an acronym for Rehabilitate, Educate, And Create Hope, a long-lasting program offered at the facility. Participants who qualify have a rare opportunity to mentor at-risk youth. With parental consent, local high school students are escorted onto the prison grounds and mentored by REACH members. The program’s objective is to prevent the youth from committing crimes that would land them in prison.

“Having responsibility and purpose provided me with a sense of humanity, a part that is lost on The Row,” said Charles. “Normalcy and acceptance began to set in. For the first time, people weren’t judging me for my past, but for the man I was today. For as long as I can remember, I could not see the good in myself. All my life, I lived with shame and guilt. For many years on The Row, I felt robotic with no emotion. Now I was beginning to view the world through lenses of hope.”

The sun began to shine on Thomas as well. He was employed as a building porter, a job with humble beginnings, sweeping, mopping, and dusting floors. Nevertheless, his hard work paid off, and Thomas was soon promoted to a position in Health Care Services as a custodian, one of the most coveted jobs in prison.

Paws-itive News

Adding to their positive momentum, the PAWs to Prison Training Program was extended to the facility.

This was the moment they were waiting for. Charles and Thomas both submitted applications for the program. Only Thomas was accepted to be a handler, but a win for Thomas felt like a win for Charles as well.

The day the dogs showed up to the yard was memorable. Five dogs from the rescue shelter were introduced to their new handlers. The first dog, a small, energetic terrier named Ally, wagged his tail vigorously and jumped on everyone he encountered. Next was a white and gray husky, an alpha with a fluffy coat. A German Shepherd was named Batman because his ears perched up like the superhero. A huge, playful pup was named Ghost because his fur was an ethereal white. Last was a gorgeous red-nosed pit bull named Lucy. One glance at Lucy and Thomas was overcome with emotion. 

“The second I locked eyes with Lucy, I immediately identified with her — all the abuse, abandonment, and hurt,” said Thomas. “I walked right up and claimed her. After I hugged Lucy and she gazed at me with unconditional love, I had to walk away in an effort to conceal my emotions and tears. In 25 years, it was the first time I can remember breaking down.”

One Year Later

More than a year later, CITP residents at CSP-Corcoran are thriving. Not only have they integrated peacefully, but several have become an asset to the facility. Others are taking advantage of rehabilitative programs, enrolling in education, even signing up for self-help classes, such as Anger Management, Victims Impact, or Criminal & Gang Anonymous. Some are addressing their past substance abuse through AA/NA groups or through the facility’s drug program, Integrated Substance Use Disorder Treatment. 

Having responsibility and purpose provided me with a sense of humanity, a part that is lost on The Row.

Still other condemned residents have excelled further. For instance, Joseph Kekoa Manibusan managed to get accepted into the Occupational Mentor Certification Program. He will become the first condemned person in the state to be fully certified as an Alcohol and Other Drug Counselor. Mike Hill, who recently had his sentence of death overturned in the courts and will be returning home shortly, created the first crochet class at the facility. Both men were a part of the initial pilot program of men transferred off The Row starting in January 2020 with over 100 participants.

While much controversy exists over abolishing the death penalty in the United States, Californians may be swayed toward reforming a broken criminal justice system. Newsom’s vision has revealed a new possibility: not everyone on The Row deserves to be condemned.

Game Day 

As the lights illuminate the Corcoran gymnasium, 20 incarcerated people take up seats placed perfectly around the perimeter of the basketball court’s three-point line. A mural off to the side depicts the Twin Towers before they came down on 9/11, as well as other paintings created by talented incarcerated artists.

From under the basketball rim, Charles approaches the free-throw line. Facing his fellow REACH peers, he prepares to practice his speech for an upcoming “Game Day,” an event where students from a local high school come to learn about life in prison.

Charles closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and begins a flawless speech. The auditorium grows silent as he transports his listeners to a different time, a different place, a different person. 

In his speech, Charles travels from New York to California. He was a soccer player, a coach, a college student, and then a convicted murderer. He spent over 20 years on San Quentin’s infamous Death Row, and as his heart-wrenching story came to a close, he paused and gazed at his peers, imagining the at-risk youth who would soon be seated before him. He finished strong. 

“I will share something I learned while on The Row,” he said. “I learned that God gives everyone the ability to take seven seconds to think before making a life-changing decision. Seven seconds! And I wish I had known this before. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you’re from, or the type of life you lead today. Just that seven seconds could mean the difference between a good, happy, and proud life, or a path of destruction, prison, and death.”

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Eric Estrada writes from California State Prison, Corcoran. He is the host and co-creator of the podcast Change-Talk.