As you walk up to a pavilion nestled in the back of Bellefontaine Park in north St. Louis County, you can see people putting up tents and canopies, covering picnic tables with tablecloths, getting the grill started – all of them preparing for the second annual “A Family Affair” picnic.
But this family is not related by blood, but instead by experience, as most of the people here are or are related to people who were incarcerated in the Missouri Department of Corrections as juveniles with life sentences without the possibility of parole.
“I got a call and they said, they're having a picnic again this year, and come on down, and, you know, be a part of it,” Chad Davis said.
Davis is from Kansas City. He was convicted in 1991 as a 16-year-old and served 30 years inside the Missouri Department of Corrections. He drove all the way to the picnic with his partner, Paula. He’s just one of former juvenile lifers in Missouri who’ve been able to go up for parole due to changes in the law in the last 15 or so years.
In 2012, the US Supreme Court ruled that mandatory life sentences without the possibility of parole for juveniles, even in murder cases were – quote “cruel and unusual punishment” and violated the constitution.
And in response, the Missouri state legislature passed a law - Senate Bill 590 - in 2016, that made people sentenced as juveniles to life without parole eligible for parole hearings after serving 25 years.
“It means a lot. It means a lot that I see the brothers and the sisters that… they are thriving,” Davis said. “We showing them that okay, we learned something while we've been in prison, you know, you just can't throw the bath water and the baby out all at once – there’s redemptive qualities in everybody.”
Community
According to the Missouri Department of Corrections, under these changes in the law – 41 former juvenile lifers have been released, about a dozen more have release dates, and only one has violated the terms of their parole.
So, as the community of former juvenile lifers continues to grow, many of them reconnect outside the walls of Missouri state prisons.
Carl Davis was incarcerated at the age of 15, and he served 22 years. He’s now working at a trucking company, is married, and has two young sons. He said the support of his “brothers” was essential when he was inside the Missouri Department of Corrections.
“I try to surround myself around the same positive mind thinking that understand the PTSD that we suffer from, all the stigmatization that we get, you know, so I believe that this is like a part of my extended family because this was family first before I met my current family,” Davis said.
“But, you know, being around fellow incarcerated individuals, especially these gentlemen, these men, that actually raised me… they kept me safe. They had protected me.”
He said those shared experiences connect the men.
Bryan Seddens is another former juvenile lifer at the picnic. He was originally given the death penalty at the age of 17 and served 31 years before being released under Senate Bill 590.
He came to the picnic, which he calls a “reunion,” with one of his grandchildren. Seddens said he went through a lot while he was incarcerated – good and bad – and these men were by his side.
“So, I don't think we'll ever be separated for a while – unless we die, you know, but I don't think we'd be there. They might be waiting on other side as a ghost; waiting for me to come through,” Seddens said.
Mac Turner also served time on Missouri’s death row. He said these guys were the ones who “held us down” during their incarceration.
They spent lots of time in the prison yard – discussed different books and the law, and speaking about a future that has now come to fruition.
Which is why he came out for the picnic.
“I believe it's about showing society that those of us that has went to prison for extensive periods of time can come out and still be productive, still have sound minds and still make a difference in society,” Turner said.
Sidney “BoBo” Roberts served 32 and a half years for a crime he committed at the age of 18 – many of those at the Potosi Correctional Center, which houses Missouri’s Death Row.
Roberts said this time was incredibly impactful – as he grew up with men, spent 10 plus years serving alongside them, and then one day “this person will say to you, they said ‘it’s my execution day',” Roberts said, “and when you look in this person's eyes, you see the fear, the emptiness, the helplessness, the sadness, the confusion.”
Which, Roberts said, is one of the reasons he and his fellow former juvenile lifers place such value on their freedom.
He added that he and others try to help those that are still waiting to get out prepare for release – making sure they know how to get basic things, like social security cards and birth certificates.
Giving Back
As the day continued, more people began to arrive with their families. The smell of barbecue chicken and the sound of 90s rap and R&B filled the air, as a large passenger van pulled up filled with toys, books, strollers and children's’ clothes - all from Dear Mama, a nonprofit founded by Bobby Bostic in honor of his late mother.
“My mom passed 20 years ago while I was in prison. She died of cancer. She's only 42 years old,” Bostic said, "and like what I'm doing today, I know she'd be proud of me, but she ain't here to see it, so that's why kids, never take your mother for granted.”
Bostic was convicted of a robbery at the age of 16 and was sentenced to 241 years in prison. He’s now been out for about a year.
"[The judge] told me I would die in prison."
Bostic doesn’t have a technical juvenile life sentence, so he didn’t fall under Senate Bill 590, but in 2021, the Missouri State Legislature passed another law – Senate Bill 26, which was partially inspired by Bostic’s case.
It allows those who committed their crime under the age of 18 – and were sentenced to more than 15 years in prison – to be eligible for parole after serving 15 years.
"When you fight hard, you can open doors for a lot of people, and thanks to my efforts, 200 other juveniles – that's worthy of a chance – has release dates," Bostic said. "So, fighting for freedom can go a long way, and I'm glad that they got a second chance."
Bostic does these pop-up distribution events throughout St. Louis in areas with need, volunteers at juvenile detention centers teaching kids how to develop business plans and writes his own books. All in an effort to give back.
“When guys get out, I hope that they apply all the knowledge that we have – because we got a lot of time to read and study – and I hope that they get out and apply that knowledge to want to be a part of the solution instead of the problem, because we was the problem at first,” Bostic said.
Bostic is far from the only one giving back to their communities. Many of the men have started nonprofits working with vulnerable youth or are writing books sharing their experiences, because “I wish when I was in juvenile, somebody would have did the same for me,” Bostic said.
After a few hours, it begins to pour, and kids run from the playground to the pavilion for cover. Several folks get up to speak, to share, and to remember their fellow juveniles who due to loopholes in existing laws are still incarcerated.
Many people at the picnic are related to or friends of people who fall into these loopholes – some due to consecutive sentencing – where sentence lengths are stacked on top of each other instead of being “served” at the same time, and some due to the nature of their sentences.
Carlos Wade is one such inmate. He was incarcerated at the age of 17. Though he maintains his innocence, he’s served more than 28 years inside the Department of Corrections.
He was sentenced to 120 years in prison, and when he applied for a parole hearing, he was told he needed to serve another 25 years – making him currently eligible for parole on his 75th birthday in 2053.
And since his conviction is a murder charge, he doesn’t qualify under Senate Bill 26 for release after 15 years.
His fiancé, Rosie Simmons, and their son, Sean, attended the picnic.
“It impacts our family very much,” Simmons said. “We go see him, and then we have to leave him in prison, and he can't come home, and it's very sad to us that we have to go visit him, talk to him on the phone for 20 minutes, and society’s not letting him get out.”
Sean agrees. He said even from prison, Wade “takes care of” him. He sends birthday cards, he gives Sean advice when he is having a hard time, and “he goes out of his way to make sure that I’m on my best behavior.”
“Honestly, it has a negative effect on me,” Sean said. “I can’t just see him when I want to, and I can’t just call him whenever I want to.”
He notices how Wade’s continued incarceration impacts his mom, who’s raising two sons by herself.
“He’s someone I love. He’s a wonderful man all over,” Sean said. “I want him home now.”
Paige Spears is another longtime inmate in the Missouri Department of Corrections, who’s friends with many of the former juvenile lifers at the picnic. He’s been incarcerated for nearly 35 years – since he was 26 years old. He’s now 62.
He was given a life sentence plus 30 years for an armed robbery he committed in 1988, where no one was physically injured. Due to a clerical error, Spears' sentence is currently listed at 1,001 years, and he’s been told he may be up for parole after serving 40 years – which will be in 2028.
His cousin, Sharon Bryant, as well as other friends and family members came to the picnic to connect with men who have been friends with Paige for years.
“He and I talk like twice a week. He's always telling me that he's ready to come home,” Bryant said. “I know he's tired, but he's hanging in there. His mother… she's 85 years of age and she's waiting on her baby to come home."
Bryant said Spears owns that he did something wrong in his youth, and he tries to give back inside the DOC – he works in the hospice unit and works as a cameraman in the visiting room at his prison.
She added that it’s nice to be surrounded by the men who were able to rejoin their communities, start their own families, nonprofits, and businesses – after serving long prison sentences.
“I'm glad to see them,” Bryant said. “And now want to see a smile on my cousin Paige Spear’s face. I want to see him happy, as well, and I want to see him get released from prison.”
Bobby Bostic said the former juvenile lifers and those who served long sentences aren’t forgetting about the “brothers” they left behind. He said many of them are talking about how they could help those still incarcerated – like a clemency drive.
“They can’t go for parole,” Bostic said. “Or they [will] go at probably 90 or 100 years old, which statistics say they won't live that long.”
But for now, there’s the picnic - an annual gathering where the family and friends of those who are still incarcerated and those who have been released can gather – for a fun day, some good food, an understanding community, and a continued fight for justice.
