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Georgia inmates face long reality of sentence

At 15, Christopher Dent thought the worst that could happen to him and his buddies if they got caught for armed robbery would be a little time in juvenile detent

Jackie Ricciardi/Staff

Richmond County sheriff's Capt. Scott Peebles, of the violent crime division, explains a board showing all of the office's open armed robbery cases. For the armed robbers who are brought to justice, the 10-year minimum sentence established by Georgia law can come as a shock.

He was wrong.

Four years later, Dent sat in the visitors' room at Burris Training Facility, a prison in Forsyth, Ga., shaking his head as he reflected on what he had done. He has another six years to wear the white cotton uniform with the blue stripes down the leg and DOC stenciled on the back of the shirt.

Dent, inmate 1251651, is one of 247 people as of March 4 in state prison after being convicted of committing armed robbery in Augusta. He and three other inmates with local ties agreed to talk with The Augusta Chronicle because they don't want other young people to end up in the same situation -- in prison with long sentences and no chance of parole.

The night of Jan. 15, 2006, Dent and Quinton Lee Hope were hanging out when the conversation turned to robbery, Dent said. He had a BB gun he had just bought on the street.

"I thought it would be cool," he said of the gun. "I was trying to fit in because everyone else had one."

They got away with the robbery of a Subway on Walton Way. About two weeks later, Dent and Hope, who was 21 at the time, decided to do it again. This time, however, Richmond County sheriff's officers were on a stakeout along the stretch of fast-food restaurants on Walton Way. Dent and Hope were caught trying to rob Papa John's.

"I thought I could get away with it again," Dent said, and he probably would have kept doing it if they had succeeded. "I was hard-headed. I didn't care about nothing. Now I got that time, it shocked me at first.

"If I'd known that, I would not have done it," Dent said of the mandatory minimum 10-year prison sentence for armed robbery. Hope is serving 10 years, too, and he will have 10 years on probation once released.

In many respects, Dent fits the typical profile of Georgia inmates serving time for armed robbery: He's young, black, from a single-parent home, and a high school dropout from a family living below the poverty line.

Dent was living with his mother and little sister at the Augusta Lodge in January 2006. But most of the time he was on Emmitt Street, hanging out with a group of older teens who were pulling armed robberies.

"They liked it that I was young," he said. "I might do something crazy. It took a long time to realize (how reckless I was.)"

Most of them are in prison now.

"At first I didn't care (about being locked up)," Dent said. "It took about two years before I realized you can't win here. It's all played out."

Dent would like to tell his story to children.

"It would make me feel better inside," he said. "I'm in a bad situation, but it would help me if I could change that for someone else. You got someone your own age who has been through it. It makes it real."

He thinks it would have made a difference had someone his own age talked to him.

'First felony' brings 10 years

Gary Dean Flowers talks to his little brother about the reality of crime when his family can make the trip from their North Carolina home to Coffee Correctional Institution in Nicholls, Ga., where he is imprisoned.

"Look at the gate, look at the fence -- you can't get out," Flowers said, gesturing with his head toward the window. He couldn't point because he was handcuffed. "This is real. You can't do anything until someone says you can. You can't eat or sleep or shower or go outside unless someone lets you."

Flowers got into trouble celebrating his 19th birthday with two friends. They ran out of liquor. They knew other people who had gotten away with robbery and thought they could, too, Flowers said.

Less than 12 hours after C Mart on Mike Padgett Highway was held up the night of March 13, 2008, Richmond County investigators had all three in custody. They also had a copy of the video from the security camera and a shot of Flowers before he tied a bandanna over his face.

An investigator told him he could get life in prison, Flowers said. He thought the detective was bluffing to get a confession.

He didn't believe it was possible until he was in jail and another inmate told him he would spend at least the next 10 years in prison without the possibility of parole.

"I thought 'No, it couldn't be,' " Flowers said. "It was my first felony. I didn't even have the gun."

He has eight more years to serve.

'Stay in school,' inmate says

Terrance Moore has 14 more years behind bars.

"It sounds even longer to me," said Moore, who is also at Coffee Correctional. "At first I couldn't fathom it, but now that I'm here I just have to do it."

Moore grew up in a tough neighborhood in Memphis, Tenn., but he made it to 18 without a criminal record, not even a traffic ticket, he said. Moore earned his GED and was enrolled at Southwest Community College. He wanted to study computers and business. He had a HOPE scholarship.

In March 2004, Moore came to Augusta to visit family. Through a cousin, he met Jonathan McCraney and Katie Watkins. Within days he was arrested for taking part in the armed robbery of an accountant who had stopped at Kroger on Deans Bridge Road to pick up something for lunch later in the day.

If he hadn't been with McCraney and Watkins, "It never would have happened," Moore said.

Now he works out, reads the Bible, writes to family and works on his appeal. When he can see his 12-year-old brother, Moore talks to him about the importance of making good choices.

"So far he's listening," Moore said. "He comes to visit -- he sees this place. I tell him, 'Don't rush it. Live your life, stay in school.'

"I try to tell him, 'You don't have to let someone talk you into something. Sometimes you have to walk away -- that's how you be a man.' "

Moore wonders how he's going to make it once he is released. He'll be 38. He won't be able to vote or serve on a jury. As an ex-con, he'll be at the bottom of the employment chain.

'Leave those streets alone'

Clyde Jordan will still be a young man when he's released. He was only 14 when he was sentenced to 10 years in prison for armed robbery. He's not sure what kind of person he will be then. He wants to stay straight and open a barbershop, but he worries about shaking off the persona he said he needs to survive in prison.

"Sending a young person to prison isn't doing nothing but intensifying their criminal skills," Jordan said. "Call it a crime college. If you don't want to change, you only get worse."

He said he has been stabbed twice by inmates who had a grudge against inmates from Augusta.

"That's what makes you worse -- you have to protect yourself from others," Jordan said. "You have to think like them or become a victim."

What put Jordan on the road to prison in Jackson County began Jan. 30, 2003, when he accosted three grade-school boys walking home from school.

"If you cry I'll shoot you," he told one boy while pointing a gun at his head. The boys didn't have any money, so Jordan demanded a 12-year-old give up his pullover sweater.

For more than a year Jordan had been living on the street. His mother and father were in and out of prison. The only adult in his life, his paternal grandmother, died in 2002, he said.

Jordan's juvenile record started when he was 11. He had run away from home.

"I had to feed myself," Jordan said when asked why he robbed the younger boys. "The adults in my neighborhood encouraged you to sell drugs, do crimes. They say that will help you eat."

Jordan has earned a GED inside prison, the Department of Corrections verified.

"Right now I'm staying out of trouble," he said.

His goal is to stay out of trouble another few months so he can be transferred to a lower security prison where he could get into trade classes, work a job assignment and maybe have time outdoors.

Those serving their sentences at Jackson Correctional Institution, where death row is located, aren't allowed to leave their dorm, Jordan said. He lives in a dorm with 250 other men. Every day, he said, is the same.

"I'm too young for this," he added.

If he had the chance to talk to other young people about his mistake, Jordan, who turned 22 last month, said this is what he'd say:

"Go to school. I wish I could do that again," he said. "Leave those streets alone. Keep your head in those books."think

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