Four volunteers from nearby Princeton University and 55 incarcerated members of Toastmasters International, a public speaking and leadership organization, gathered in the visitor hall of New Jersey State Prison. They came to see Clarence Artis III.

Standing just 5-foot-7, with a medium build, Artis isn’t physically intimidating. But once he starts speaking, he’s a giant. His speeches, well polished from years of practice while behind bars, are filled with passion and authenticity. His body language is confident as he glides across the stage using hand gestures and facial expressions to enhance his message. He speaks of Black history, entrepreneurship and the importance of perseverance. One time he gave a tutorial about how to grow sprouts.

No other speaker I’ve witnessed in my 18 years in this prison is more effective at captivating a rambunctious audience. At the recent Toastmasters event, people arrived riled up after being locked in their cells for nearly 22 hours. When Artis took center stage, he greeted the audience, “Good evening, toastmasters!” When the energy was not reciprocated, he repeated the greeting. This time a thunderous, “Good evening!” howled back at him.

In the visiting hall, Artis compared the arc of his life — a story of neglect and abandonment, survival and strength — to that of the growth and development of a seed.

“When a seed is planted or thrown to the soil, it doesn’t just begin growing upward,” Artis said. “In order to be able to push through the dirt and grime of life, it must first gain the strength to do so. To gain that strength, it must first grow down — deep into the soil — to establish strong roots. That’s how the seed is capable of supporting the growth and sprouting of its stem.”

A childhood in the Bronx

Artis’ growth defied the odds.

When he was young, his drug-addicted parents left his baby sister and him unattended for three days. Soon, they were removed from the home by social services. Artis and his sister grew up in the grueling foster care system, bouncing from one difficult situation to another. Eventually, his paternal grandmother adopted him but she was unable to gain custody of his younger sister.

“They said technically she wasn’t a blood relative because we have different fathers,” Artis told me. Leaving his sister in foster care was devastating. He felt like he’d abandoned her. It took 24 years for them to reestablish contact.

Artis grew up in the Bronx, just around the corner from Yankee Stadium. As a preteen, he did acrobatic stunts on inline skates for passing baseball fans. He would collect some pocket change and buy himself a value meal at the nearby McDonald’s. He continued to feed and clothe himself as he entered high school.

“I was a school kid till 3 o’clock,” he said. “After that, I was a street dweller.”

He began committing petty crimes, which soon escalated. Artis needed bigger payouts to afford the name-brand sneakers and clothes he desired. He grew reckless.

‘Just accept the plea’

At 19, Artis was arrested in Virginia after a residential robbery went terribly wrong. One of the victims rushed at Artis, he said, and a struggle ensued. They fought for a gun, which went off accidentally and struck both of them. Artis was hit in the leg, but the victim didn’t survive.

In Virginia, the state is allowed to bring capital murder charges when a homicide is committed in the commission of a robbery. From the outset, prosecutors sought the death penalty. Just one month after his 19th birthday, Artis was facing the electric chair.

With his family constantly urging him to accept a deal so he could save his life, Artis, also fearing for his life, agreed to a plea.

“I had no advice from my lawyer except for, ‘Just accept the plea,'” he told me.

So he accepted an open plea to guarantee he wouldn’t get the death penalty. In exchange for having his life spared, he received a sentence of 126 years.

But Artis claims his lawyer neglected to tell him a crucial detail: Because the homicide was unintentional, he couldn’t actually receive the death penalty under Virginia law. In 2005, a successful capital punishment case required proof of an intentional, premeditated killing.

To this day, Artis believes the court misinterpreted the law, resulting in a longer sentence.

“The judge thought it was mandatory to run the gun charges consecutively,” Artis told me. “But he had the option to run the gun charges concurrently because they all stemmed from one incident.”

Nonetheless, Artis was determined not to be defined by his lowest moment.

Redemption

Just nine months after entering Virginia’s department of corrections, he earned his GED diploma, scoring an impressive 3,190 of 4,000 points — at that time, apparently the third-highest score in the prison’s history. His teacher recognized his potential and gave him a job as a tutor to help others take their own GED tests. 

Artis was eventually moved into New Jersey’s prison system. Now, when he speaks to large groups, Artis shows exactly where his craving for knowledge has taken him. With each feat, he shows how dim the world would be if his light were extinguished at 19.

“He’s absolutely inspirational,” said Abdul Griggs, who has been incarcerated for two decades. “The way that he articulates all that he has been through makes you want to strive to do better for yourself.”

Daevon Davis, who is the sergeant-at-arms for Toastmasters Emanon Gavel Club at our prison, said Artis’ speeches “are always uplifting and inspiring.”

“The speech he did titled ‘Sprouting 101’ provided me with so much valuable information about the health benefits of eating organic food, I started being more mindful of what I ate,” Davis added.

Artis, who’s commonly called Three’s, since he’s the third of his namesake, is a glutton for knowledge. While incarcerated, he paid out of pocket to take a correspondence course in business management from Ashworth College, completing his associate degree in less than two years.

The way he blocked out the daily chaos of prison life and remained disciplined with his studies was impressive.

“Because of my ignorance, I was taken advantage of at a vulnerable time,” Artis said. “My decision to accept that deal was made out of fear, not logic. Since then, I vowed to take my education seriously, so I won’t have to experience the feeling of being helpless ever again.”