I was born in Birmingham, Alabama. But shortly afterward, my mother moved to a place called Coconut Grove in Miami. My mother was a child herself when she had me; she was just 15. As a result, I was raised mostly without parents. I moved to Philadelphia at one point to live with my uncle. And eventually, I was handed over to my grandmother. After my grandfather retired from Chrysler in Detroit, the three of us moved back to Birmingham.
During my years of elementary and high school, I had no trouble with the law, even though I was in that lifestyle. My first encounter with the law was when I was falsely arrested for receiving stolen property. The case was thrown out for misidentification; I was 19. The second encounter was when I was 21, which was for aggravated assault and was also thrown out.
Before I started to engage in criminal activity, I was a fair student in high school. I was very interested in culinary arts and enrolled in home economics in high school. My nanna used to tell me to “come in here and learn how to cook so you won’t have to depend on a woman!” And it stuck. I could have earned my diploma if I had just attended summer school. But my excessive absences made that impossible.
During my early high school years, I got a young lady pregnant, so I worked and sold drugs on the side. And that led to the trouble that put me in prison. My Nanna wasn’t the smartest woman in the world but she gave me something that most of my friends didn’t get from their parents, and that was genuine love. She used to say, “Smith, be careful, because they are going to put you somewhere I can’t come and get you.” And that’s exactly what happened.
One fateful night
On the night of May 28,1992, I was out cruising with my two friends Eugene and Kenny. It was graduation day and we were out looking for a party and a car to steal. After riding around for an hour or so, we headed back home. Then Eugene spotted a Camaro parked at a convenience store and shouted, “Pull over! That’s it!!” I pulled over to the shoulder of the road and he walked toward the store where the car was parked.
From where we were parked, the car looked unoccupied. He yelled back, “Yo, pull over into the Wendy’s parking lot!” It took us a few minutes to get back into traffic because the street was crowded. As soon as we moved into the right lane, gunshots rang out: pow, pow, pow, pow! Then the Camaro roared out of the parking lot. Kenny and I looked at each other and said, “I hope that dude didn’t do anything stupid.” We couldn’t see who was in the car because the windows were tinted. But we assumed it was Eugene.
The driver shot right past us and ran the light. He got to the next light and then he and another driver started racing from one traffic light to the next, not knowing there was a cop just ahead. We stayed far behind him. The cop pulled out, put his lights on and gave chase. Kenny and I looked at each other in shock.
We got back on the expressway toward home, not saying a word. Just total silence. After traveling a few minutes, I looked in the rearview mirror and a cop car had pulled up behind us. I told Kenny, “Don’t look back but there is a cop following us.” We kept driving until it was time to get off via the exit. The cop was still following us and suddenly he threw on his lights and a gang of other cop cars showed up. Kenny and I were beckoned over in a residential area and pulled out of the car. People came out of their houses, yelling “What did they do? Why are you guys doing them like that?” The cops were getting rough with us. We heard another officer say, “Wrong car; let them go.” That’s when we heard them say, “A DEA officer has been shot and the car fits the description.”
Kenny and I were like, “Damn what the hell?” We didn’t know where Eugene was. We went back to Eugene’s house and there was a lot of commotion going on. I walked to the back where everybody was and saw Eugene in the middle of everyone. I said to Eugene, “Yo, do you know what the f*** you just did? You just shot a f****** DEA officer!” Eugene said, “I had to! It was either him or me.” I asked, “What happened?” Eugene said, “When I got in the car, I told the dude inside to get out. He was on the phone talking with someone. He asked if was I serious and I told him, ‘Yeah, get the f*** out.” Then the man reached behind his back with his right hand and tried to grab a gun. So I shot him.”
I said, “I’m out of here,” and went home, not knowing what to do. My wife sensed that something was going on. I said, “Man, I might be in trouble!” I told her what happened. She looked at me and said, “Let’s pray that he (the DEA officer) is alright.” We turned on the news and saw: “News flash: A DEA officer was shot and robbed of his car.” I couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning. The next morning, there was another news flash: The officer had died from his gunshot wounds!!
I learned that Eugene had also taken a gun, a bulletproof vest with “sheriff” written on it, drugs and a large amount of money from the car he stole. I went to my grandparents’ house, and we all took off for Miami. My grandparents had planned the trip as a honeymoon for Tonia and I. When I called one of my relatives back home to see what was going on, I found out that the FBI was looking for me. They had already captured Eugene and he told them everything. I had not told my grandparents what happened, but it was time. We were in a place called “Flea Market USA” when I told them. My grandmother damn near passed out from shock. She said, “We have to call your mother and we have to go back so you can turn yourself in.”
We went back home the next day. When we got there, we went to my uncle’s house and he told me I needed to see a lawyer friend of his. I told him what happened and instead of turning myself in, he told me to go home and let the police come get me! Without thinking, I did just that, and shortly after arriving at my grandparents’ house, the FBI came to arrest me.
That was in June of 1992. I was arrested for aiding and abetting the murder of a DEA agent in the performance of his duty, as well as for using a gun in a crime of violence. I was tried and found guilty of the first, but was acquitted of the second.
Coming to terms
At first, I couldn’t accept that I had done anything wrong. All I did was drop Eugene off! I had no knowledge of Eugene having a weapon. But I slowly came to realize that, “Man, you did this to you!!! You did this because you wanted to be someone that you were not. If I would’ve just been myself there’s a good chance I wouldn’t be here.” So, I started to take responsibility. I stopped blaming everything on my codefendant. I am not saying I am responsible for his decision to kill the officer. But I am saying that my selfishness contributed to what happened.
Every day I think about my actions and each day I do my best to make amends for the emotional and physical damage I caused the family of the victim. I try so hard not to waste my time. I help facilitate several classes (drug education, tutor in rational thinking, yoga). I am the elder in my spiritual group, a suicide-watch companion and a peer mentor. I read a lot of books.I am going to therapy.
I still love the culinary arts, and make many meals for others in prison. My signature touch is cinnamon; I like to put cinnamon in almost everything because it gives it a helluva taste. I make fried rice using this trail mix we can get in the commissary. I mix it with the rice and add a Pepsi. You’re probably thinking “what the hell,” but if you could taste it, you’d be like wow! I also make a salad dressing with olive oil and mustard and everyone says it’s bananas.
Now, I am appealing the denial of my compassionate release petition. I was denied not on the strength of justice but because of where the case happened (Alabama is one of the most racist states) and who was killed (a law enforcement officer). But I will keep trying. I’m ready to go home.
