Albert Woodfox’s new book "Solitary: Unbroken by four decades in solitary confinement. My story of transformation and hope" will be released on Tuesday, March 5, but Albert’s book tour began today, March 2, in Arizona at the Tucson Festival of Books.
Also today, National Public Radio released a new interview with Albert, which you can listen to and/or read the transcript here. Featured below is a powerful excerpt from the interview:
SIMON: Over the years, Brent Miller's widow, Teenie, became convinced you couldn't have been the person who murdered her husband, right?
WOODFOX: Yes. When I got out, I had an opportunity to sit down with her and, you know, have dinner and meet with her and her daughter. And, you know, our hearts always did go out to Ms. Rogers because, you know, we knew that she was not being told the truth. You know, all of the evidence that pointed to someone else killing Brent Miller, she was never made aware of that to my understanding. And - but once, you know, our investigators and stuff, you know, talked to her and give her all the facts, then on her own she come to the conclusion that, you know, we had been wrongfully convicted for the death of her husband, you know. And she became an ardent supporter for our freedom, you know.
In addition, here is an excerpt from Solitary:
February 19, 2016.
I woke in the dark. Everything I owned fit into two plastic garbage bags in the corner of my cell. “When are these folks gonna let you out,” my mom used to ask me. Today, mom, I thought. The first thing I’d do is go to her grave. For years I lived with the burden of not saying goodbye to her. That was a heavy weight I’d been carrying.
I rose and made my bed, swept and mopped the floor. I took off my sweatpants and folded them, placing them in one of the bags. I put on an orange prison jumpsuit required for my court appearance that morning. A friend had given me street clothes to wear, for later. I laid them out on my bed.
Many people wrote me in prison over the years, asking me how I survived four decades in a single cell, locked down 23 hours a day. I turned my cell into a university, I wrote them, a hall of debate, a law school. By taking a stand and not backing down, I told them. I believed in humanity, I said. I loved myself. The hopelessness, the claustrophobia, the brutality, the fear, I didn’t say. I looked out the window. A news van was parked down the road outside the jail, headlights still on, though it was getting light now. I’ll be able to go anywhere. To see the night sky. I sat back on my bunk and waited.