I began teaching self-improvement classes. I became a fitness instructor, and then I began training others. I enjoyed seeing people blossom in an environment where so many people lose their hope. My mother was a schoolteacher. When she found out I enjoyed teaching, she was loving that. She felt like I got that from her, which I believe I did. When she passed away in 2007, she was proud, no matter where I was at.

I applied for clemency in 2000. I never really took it serious. It was like a drowning man reaching for a spider web. I’d forgotten about it until the denial came, in 2004. Filed in 2010. Never heard anything about it again. In 2012, a firm accepted my case on a pro bono basis.

In July 2015, my lawyer called for me at the prison. He says, “I want to inform you that the president of the United States has accepted your application for clemency.”

I say, “What does that mean?” Right now my mind is not processing any of that. In the background, my attorneys are laughing. He says, “What it means is you are going to get out of jail.” I say, “Could you say that again?” He says, “You have been given a release date of November the 10th.” I said, “Of what year?” Fifteen days later, I went to the halfway house.

A lot has changed in the city. My friend has taught me how to commute on the subway. The biggest thing is just learning new streets. But then you have the GPS on the phone. This telephone is another world. I have a computer here. It’s still blowing my mind. Google this, Google that.

One of my lifelong friends is an attorney, and I’m aiding and assisting him clerically part time. I’m kind of a neat freak. I like to have things organized. He did a lot of legal work for me when I was in, as a friend. What better way can I show my appreciation? It also allows me to go after the job of my choice — working with youth, working as a counselor, working with citizens returning from prison. I’m getting more interviews in this arena.

In April, I was able to go to the arboretum. It was magnificent. We went to the cherry blossoms. All of this is in the city. I’m learning how to appreciate the city, which I didn’t know how to do before when I was young and just not there mentally. Now I want to do the small things that just mean so much. Like look at trees. Just smell them, even though the allergies crush me. But I’ll take the punishment. Because I have to enjoy that.

I went to lunch with President Obama and six other commutees. One of them was my co-defendant, who was commuted by President Bush.

President Obama, he wanted to listen. Some of the things the commutees had issues with, that we shared with him and his staff, have been corrected already. Some of our family members are convicted felons, so we can’t go live with them. President Obama did not think that was good. I was elated to hear that that’s in the process of being changed.

I’ve been dating — a person I’ve known my whole life. I’m more comfortable with that. I don’t have to do a lot of explaining to someone who might think I’m a monster because I did so much time. I shared this with the president. I said to him: “Having a home and somewhere to go is very important. Having a job is very important. But once I get a job, once I get a place to live, there’s another side of me, the intimate side, that needs to be nurtured.” I would like to hold a woman’s hand. I would like to have a conversation with her. I would like to have dinner with her. And when I shared that with the president, he looked at me, and he said, “I understand.”

So at the end when we were leaving, after I shared the fact that I went to the cherry blossoms and enjoyed it, he said to me when he shook my hand and hugged me, he whispered in my ear, “You’re not pulling my leg on the romance thing, are you?” I said, “No, Mr. President.” He said: “Man, not too many men go down to the cherry blossoms. You’re picking up where you left off.” He was letting me know: Take your time, do those kind of things, to get in contact with your other side.

That side of me had laid dormant for 24 years. Men don’t like to talk like that. We have this macho-ism. But I miss that. I had to put that asleep. There’s a saying: You don’t miss your water until the well runs dry. I did not understand what I was missing. Just the touch, the conversation. Since I’ve been home, my friend said, “You know, you’re very romantic.” And I say, “Well, I missed it.”

When I was incarcerated I would see movies and read different books, and I would say, I want to try that. Walking on the beach, the walking through the parks. The eating out around a pond, just taking your food with you and watching the ducks. Being right up on a flower and smelling it and breaking it off and maybe giving it to your woman. These things, when I get a chance to do them, I’m going to do them.

I haven’t been swimming in 35 years. I’ve been swimming. I joined a gym. I’m free, and I’m letting myself know I’m free. I’m 48, and I have a lot of life out in front of me. I was around death for so long. And now that I can live? I’m going to find myself living.

— As told to Jenny Rogers

Kimberly Richardson, Columbus, Ohio

“I’ve lived three lives. This one is so much better than the last two.”

Sentenced in 2004 to 180 months in prison for conspiracy to distribute in excess of 50 grams of crack, and for carrying a firearm in relation to a drug-trafficking crime



Life has been busy. I work at a Jimmy John’s during the day and a Dollar Tree at night, then business school three nights a week and a couple hours two days a week. My plan is to graduate March 24, 2017, the day I turn 42.

I’m hoping to open a business helping people like me. I guess you can say I’m kind of a success story. I want to go back inside and say, “You can do it.” When I came out, I was so scared and so worried because of all the negative things they told me. But you can do it — you just have to know how.

My mom, aunt, my two boys and I live in a three-bedroom house. The oldest graduated from technical college to be an electrical engineer. He works at the Dollar Tree. My youngest is the one who got me the job at Jimmy John’s. He’s there and about to go into the military. He tried to join the Navy when he was 8. My mom got a letter back from the Navy telling her about it. She had it laminated. He’s now 20. He told me he was waiting on me coming home to go and says, “Now that you’re home, you’ve got six months with me.” I don’t want him to go, but at the same time, I don’t want him to halt his life.