This site is dedicated to youth incarcerated, beaten, abused and made to suffer long term 24/7 solitary confinement, inside a system of injustice that has failed, not them alone; but, all members of society.
I just want to apologize to any who tried to visit the website and found it shut down - my mistake. I don't recall getting any emails notifying me that it was time to renew the page - ooops.
But, we are back up and running and I hope any new visitors will stop in and sign the guestbook, join as a member and then write in the blog section - tell us a little about you.
Here is Sonny's address for any who would like to write to him. He makes every effort to respond to letters as quickly as he can.
Dwight Abbott T88033
C 3 A Rm 150
PO Box 32200
Stockton CA 95213
Feel free to write any time, he'd love to hear from people. (And if you would like to help by sending him typing paper, envelopes or stamps so he can carry on correspondences it would be greatly appreciated).
Hello new members (4 since January) and welcome to our site. We hope you like it here and that you sign the guestbook, write in our blog area (share your stories with us if you have any), leave comments or ask questions. I am in contact with Sonny daily and share any news from here with him. And of course you are more than welcome to write to him directly if you want. His address is listed below and he loves getting mail
I'm a couple days late for Christmas, but Sonny wanted me to say he hopes you all had a Merry Christmas and have a safe and Happy New Year.
I want to share a letter here that he wrote to his brother a few years back - it's actually one of his memories (I'm trying to talk him into writing a book of memories like this - some happy, some sad, and all from the heart).
I hope you enjoy this one and that I will have more to post soon.
"A Homeless Christmas"
Dear Skip and Terry,
It is the time of year my thoughts turn to one of the holidays I do everything I can to ignore. I've existed more than 50 years of my life incarcerated, yet I have been able to secret away a few memories long ago joyful; that today inside my cell can be painfully punishing. It is one of these I would like to share with you.
I believe it was 1976; My girlfriend at the time Mary Ann Rice, and I were living with our dog inside my van. Meandering around Shasta County, we met some folks who had set up a Christmas Tree lot South of Redding, along Hilltop Drive. Vividly I remember bright colorful lights, the smell of freshly cut Oregon Trees, sawdust spread thickly over the ground. For several weeks through December, Mary and I were invited to gather with them around a large metal Drum in which a fire had been set, where together we sang songs, shared laughter.
Christmas Eve, the lot abandoned, once proud trees left to wither, Mary and I returned to warm ourselves over the fire we rekindled. From the surrounding gloom we carried into the light a tree and decorated it with ornaments earlier left broken and strewn.
Shortly after midnight, Christmas morning, we exchanged gifts. I had for her matching checkered wool mittens and scarf, she a Timex watch for me. Not fifty cents between us…, neither asked. Just like the movies, it began to snow. Hugging one another, Mary began to softly hum “Silent Night.” We may not have had fifty cents but, that early morn I was the wealthiest man in town.
I was not at the time so screwed up I couldn't feel the joy and love shared there on Hilltop Drive. Each Christmas now, this experience finds its way into my head, demanding remembrance: I began to wish ‘just one more time’, I could live.
This year I have you, Terry and ATT&T to thank for making me again feel I am a very, very wealthy man. Merry Christmas to you both, Lil’ Brother, I love you.
Prison of heartaches, anguish and tears,
where there is no hope, only fear,
This graveyard for many,
this shame on all,
where I exist,
back unbent, standing tall,
Fortress of madness and frustration,
bastions filled with untold pain,
I challenge again, again, again!
I dispute your authority
over my life, my soul,
hidden behind fungus covered granite walls,
smelling of spattered blood and mold.
Your foundation of rock and steel were laid
by sadists long gone;
your torch kept burning
by Devil's spawn.
Fuck you, your threats,
oppression, solitary cells and greed,
enough of my blood you have let.
I promise, a day will dawn,
upon which alarms will toll,
The Reaper has come to collect
for the senseless destruction of souls.
As sure as the Eagle takes flight,
vengeance will resound,
taken by men
whose lives and souls you bound.
I'll savor my moment,
you sadistic whore!
Knowing a “moment” is all I'll have,
before a bullet takes me to the floor.
Ah, what the hell, San Quentin,
I'm too old, far too much blood has flowed,
I'll give you what you would not,
mercy instead of a show . . .
Dwight Abbott, 2009
A constant work in progress, this site is about truth, exposing an abusive, dysfunctional system that has, since its conception, failed not only those children intrusted to it, but a society that believes that the Corrections Department administrators are good stewards.
Undoubtedly there will be the many who question. Please do not hesitate to do so. Who but Dwight Abbott, after 52 years in a cell smaller than a studio apartment bathroom, now serving 4 consecutive life sentences leaving him without hope of ever again breathing on this side of the high barriers behind which he languishes, could know the prison system more personally?
Webmaster, Karren Kilian, will collect all questions left here for Sonny, or other Abbott family members, and as quickly as it is possible get answers, if any there are, and publish them here.