Richard Boyington

My earliest memory is of my mother being beaten by my father. This happening occurred at when I was very young and the circumstances of the event are cloudy. I do remember that we were stopped beside the road so we were travelling to or from somewhere. My mother denies this ever happening — but know, I saw this attack on the person who had given me life and the pain and brutality were indelibly imprinted onto my memory.

At some point my mother and father divorced. I know my mother tried to raise me right but being a single mom with two small kids her task would not be easy and the deck was definitely stacked against her. I remember we moved often. had homes in Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana and Texas. Not having a permanent home with lasting friendships placed me in an insecure environment, which boded ill for me. In reality I was pretty much on my own.

My life of crime started about age four or five with lying and stealing. I have no memories of being in church, so there I was under the dominance of Satan and me with little or no restraint or Christian guidance.

My life continued on this track for several years. I did no really serious crimes then, only petty stuff like stealing a few

dollars, some vandalism, and roughly just lascivious acts committed against no one in particular and everyone in general. My crimes were not yet directed at any one person.

When i was nine the man i call dad entered my life. By this time-though i-was well on my way to self-destruction. I had already begun smoking pot and I was accustomed to running the streets at all hours at will. I did make an honest attempt to do right and to be a son to my new dad, but it was not long before was back on the streets doing “my thing.”

A big part of my rebellion was the perception I had developed and which I soon learned to nurture that I was not loved by anyone nor was I wanted by anyone. My mother would often drop me off on other family members — for what reasons can only speculate. I was deeply affected by this rejection and I grew distant and refused to allow anyone to get close to me. Love was almost nonexistent in my world and what little awareness of honesty and integrity I had ever possessed was degenerating into a cold entity of hate and evil.

When I was thirteen or fourteen I made what I perceive as my final attempt to be a “normal” person. I went to my real father seeking what I did not have in the home of my mother, a sense of belonging. This proved to be a colossal mistake! My father was a drunk and was cold toward me. After I had bared my soul and made myself vulnerable I was immediately informed by my father that he had never loved me, he never wanted to see me again, and he refused to even acknowledge that he was my father. What few sensible feelings that had remained in my being were at once dashed to pieces and as the old saying goes, “this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

I cannot describe the hurt and the pain that the rejection of my father expressed towards me had caused. When I finally emerged from the numbness, the images of hate and revenge and evil, I was another person entirely. No longer would anyone have any influence upon what I said, or what I could do, or what I would think. I was my own man (that’s how I pictured myself now) and I was going to live my own life my own way.

My life proceeded from bad to worse. I was dealing drugs, stealing, robbing folks, and I was deep into pornography. I hurt many people, but I felt no remorse whatsoever.

Not only was I dealing drugs, 1 was using drugs. My physical and emotional abuse of men, women, friends, and family went on unabated. I didn’t care about any of them. I only wanted to achieve my own ends and I cared less who I had hurt or walked on to get what I wanted. I was out of control, and the people whom I frequented with on the street knew that I was a force to be reckoned with. My disregard of others was a trait that I had nourished and cultivated in order to insulate myself from others and for me to justify my actions to myself. What was doing was wrong but I squelched any thought of remorse or change. I was determined to be BAD!

When I was nineteen my hate turned to rage and I killed a man with my bare hands for next to nothing. It is not lost on me now that most of the pain and abuse I inflicted on others I did with my own hands. I would not allow others to do my dirty work. I enjoyed too much seeing the expressions of fear and trembling that my anger could cause in the faces of my victims. My hate had become a personal thing that brought me satisfaction. I loved intimidating people, anyone, and those who were the quickest to exhibit fear were those persecuted unmercifully. I hated weak-spirited people. I detested any form of cowardice (my perception of weakness then) and I was determined to exploit my domination over others, especially those I perceived to be -weak.

It was not long after I had killed, that the long arm of the law intervened to stop my rampage. On 29 March 1986 I was arrested and formally charged with Capital Murder; two counts of Strong-Armed Robbery; and one count of Burglary of a Residence. The street life of the “Wild Man” was over! At trial I was found guilty on all counts and given a sentence of life plus forty-five years.

Even while awaiting trial I carried on my agenda of hate and violence.

While traveling from the county jail to Parchman (the Big House) I determined that I was going to be on the top of the food chain.

I had heard stories of life in the penitentiaries and I was determined that I would not be “punked out” by anyone. I would carry on my evil intentions while in prison – no one was going to cross me and get away with it.

Not long after arriving at Parchman I stabbed a man. The man had dared to question my right to be uncontested in some matter so he had to be disciplined.

I also started a gang while at Parchman. It was a hate gang, The Aryan Brotherhood. My method of securing the absolute loyalty of my gang members was Blood in — Blood out”! I became even more ruthless in my attacks on others. Who I went against did not matter. Guards, other inmates, free world visitors – none were spared my hate. I thrived now and my gang and I earned a high degree of respect. No one in his right mind would mess with “Psycho” as I was t called. Inside the AB’s I was the big of 9, The Man! I ruled the AB’s with an iron fist. No one but a fool would dare to cross me and anyone who was smart stayed as far away from me as possible.

For twelve long years I was top dog. I hated everyone and my anger, like a cancer, was out of control and eating me up. I once stabbed a man nine times for changing the channel on the TV. My visits to the Disciplinary Committee can’t begin to count and I was such a frequent visitor to the ‘hole’ that I was reputed to have my own reserved cell. My own family was scared of me. In all my years of hate and violence the only people I came across who I never hurt intentionally were my mom, my sister: everyone else had better watch out!

While in prison doing “my thing,” I built up a wall around me that was so dense and impervious that no one could get through to me, for whatever reason. I was so conceited that I thought God could not get through to me nor would I have had anything to do with Him if He could have penetrated my defenses. My opinion of God, and Christ, and Christians was that they were weak. Every chance 1 got I would take whatever they had that I wanted or even thought I might want. The chaplains and volunteer groups from the churches who came to visit us I would use for whatever gain I could get out of them.

One day though, all of that would change. I had been using the Spiritual Life Center as a place to hold clandestine meetings with AB’s from other units. We also used the Spiritual Life Center as a drop-off/pick-up point. This went on for several years with me or one of the other AB’s usually present each week.

On 23 January 1999 1 was at the Spiritual Life Center to meet with one of my ‘boys’. For some reason he didn’t show that night, and I remember I was really, really mad. I was thinking of how I would bust his head open for standing me up like this. I was sitting on the back pew, which was my customary seat when came to the Spiritual Life Center. I remember that Terrie Roark was singing that night. There was no preaching, just singing. I don’t remember the songs but was shocked when I came to my senses and found I was on my knees crying. had not shed a tear in years. Now here I was, in church, the head AB, on my knees — crying. What was the world coming to?

How I ended up on the front row on my knees, I do not know. God had somehow penetrated my defenses, touched my heart, and shut down my mind. I do remember that while I was on the back row that I had held onto the back of the pew in front of me so tightly that my knuckles had turned white. Now, here I am on the front row, and on my knees, and in tears!

When Terrie walked down to where I was kneeling and placed her hand on my head my life changed at that moment. The weight of all the years of hate, violence, crime, abuse, sacrilege, and devoutly following Satan was over. I was really freaking inside — I didn’t know one thing from another and all I wanted at that moment was to get out of there and regain control of my mind.

What I didn’t know was that Jesus had entered into my heart when I was at my weakest, while I was angry and out of control of myself. Here was Psycho, AKA Richard (Ricky) Boyington, one of the toughest convicts at Parchman — the man who ruled the AB’s with an iron fist and who exacted retribution in blood: on his knees crying his heart out.

I wasn’t giving up without a fight though. I fought Jesus for three days before finally succumbed and said, “Okay Lord. I’m all yours!” Those were the most troublesome three days of my life. My earthly mind kept telling me to drop this Jesus stuff and get on with my life as I was used to living it. But there was something I could not deny and I didn’t want to lose it. The feeling of peace I had felt that night at the Spiritual Life Center. This feeling of peace, so sublime, so restful, so easy to carry – I wanted this and I wanted it badly. My desire for the peace that Jesus was offering me was stronger than all of the hate, violence, lasciviousness, and immorality that I had been living under.

I thank God that His Spirit, His Holy Spirit, gave me the courage to face my false self — that kid who was devastated by an uncaring father’s scorn and hate all those long, painful year ago. In short order, Jesus led me to forgive those who had hurt me so much. I forgave my mom and my dad. The more I forgave them and others, the more the Spirit of God moved in me.

On the second of April 1999, Good Friday, I was baptized into God’s kingdom and Jesus’ church. I was not alone that day, nor have I been alone any day since receiving Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.

Since my initial contact with Jesus I have had periods where times have been rough, times where I remember back onto the things I have done while seeking guidance from God to restore or rebuild what I had undone in the lives of others. Remorse is a hard taskmaster, and he’s even tougher on us when there is no way we can ever undo or repair what we have destroyed. I know I have been forgiven all my past sins and that, like God, I am to remember them no more. But if there is any way I can undo any moment in my past where I have caused pain, suffering, or loss to anyone who was a victim of my lawlessness — I am prepared to do all that is within my power to make restoration according to God’s Will.

For eight or nine months after my conversion I had periods where I cried at the slightest provocation. Here’s Psycho, the `old man’ of the Aryan Brotherhood turning his back to the brotherhood and walking away from it all. God has given me the courage and the strength to rebuild my life after his calling.

The Lord gave me his first promise from Isaiah 54:17: “No weapon formed against you shall prosper, And every tongue which rises against you in judgment, you shall condemn. This is the heritage of the servants revelation, that I was on the road to recovery, and that everything would be all right. Now I stand for my Jesus no matter what. How can I do anything else after all He has done for me?

I am by no means a complete work. I am just over one year old in the Lord. I am a child of God who grows stronger in the Lord each and every day. One of my favorite Bible passages is Luke 7:41-48. It concerns the creditor who had two debtors and the woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears. I can relate to this passage because I have been forgiven for so many sins that I cannot begin to count them, and, all I can offer to Jesus to repay my debt is my own blood, sweat, and tears. I can rest now knowing that my sins are forgiven, all of them. And I know that the only price I need pay for my forgiveness is to receive Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior and believe He was raised from the dead to sit at the right hand of the Father in Heaven.

Richard Boyington,
#46308 Unit 12
Parchman, MS 38738