Before my release to a halfway house in June, most nights I could look over and see Lucky in the cubicle across the hall from me in our Colorado prison, his book light illuminating his Bible.

Reading has been a major part of Wayne “Lucky” Deputee’s life since he learned in the early 2000s, shortly after becoming incarcerated. Behind bars, Lucky, 69, overcame illiteracy, but even before prison his life was full of beating the odds and magical moments.

Those started the day he was born, weighing a dangerously light 2 pounds. His twin brother weighed 12.

“They weren’t sure I’d make it,” Lucky said. “My family brought in a Crow medicine man to pray over me. He said something like: ‘If he survives this, he’ll be lucky.’”

Lucky’s father died when he was 10 years old. He stopped attending school to work to support his family. As a kid, Lucky worked at a gas station, a car wash and an 80-home paper route to afford rent, food and clothing for his mother, sister and brother. 

Lucky was a natural performer, singing and playing the guitar. 

“I love to sing,” he said. “It’s in my blood. My whole family sings and plays instruments.” 

He even appeared in a 1970s television show and a major motion picture.

In 1977, his family was singing at an Indian center in Salt Lake City when they were approached by someone from “The Life and Times of Grizzly Adams,” a television show. Lucky says he, his brother and his mother filmed for an episode on Provo Canyon in Utah, and met Dan Haggerty and the bear who played Ben. 

The gig paid off a couple years later when he was working as a welder in Salt Lake City and was encouraged to audition for the 1979 cult classic film “The Warriors.” 

“I was eating lunch in the cafeteria when this woman came up, framing me with her fingers like a movie frame,” he said. “When she learned I’d been in ‘Grizzly Adams’ she told me I should come for an audition. I didn’t have to dress up or anything. I was wearing blue jeans and a jean jacket.”

The Warriors was recently on television in the common room here in the prison, and I was able to catch the scene where Lucky appears — the big gathering of gangs — but I couldn’t locate him in the mass of people.

Lucky continued to work in welding and ironworks. He worked on buildings, bridges, in shipyards and mines. But he also loved singing. In 1980, Lucky was performing at the National Finals Rodeo in Salt Lake City when Clint Black, a country music singer and songwriter, came over to talk to him. 

“He told me I have one heck of a voice,” Lucky said. “I should give it a shot and sing at powwows.”

Lucky took Black’s advice. At a powwow in Oakland, California, he says he met Sandra Bullock. 

At Federal Correctional Institution, Englewood, in Littleton, Colorado, Lucky still plays acoustic and electric guitar in the band room as often as he can and sometimes performs on holidays like Independence Day. He writes songs and sings about his life and growing up on the reservation. 

Still, conquering illiteracy remains his proudest achievement.

“Learning to read was exciting,” he said. “I was opened up to all this knowledge about God’s work. It doesn’t matter who you are or what color you are, [the Bible is] the music the angels are singing to God.”

When he’s not reading, Lucky can be found working as a custodian for the recreation department, playing concerts, practicing his music or listening to K-Love Radio, a Christian radio network. He’s also a great friend to those around him.

I caught up with one of Lucky’s former coworkers as he was leaving to go home; I didn’t catch the man’s name. 

“Lucky never has anything bad to say about anyone,” the man told me. “He’s traded me Buddy bars for extra rolls of toilet paper [when] he knew I didn’t have any food in my locker. He’s always willing to help others, a good Christian man and my best friend at FCI Englewood.”

Lucky recalls the first time we met, more than 10 years ago, when we sat next to each other on the bus coming back from court.

“I was nervous about being in prison,” I said. “Talking to you made me feel less anxious.”

In the late afternoons after we’d cleaned up the dining area, we had nothing to do for hours except sit and talk. That’s when I really got to know him. Back then, I was working on both my novels. Lucky was always interested in my writing and encouraged me at times when I wanted to quit. 

Just before I left for the halfway house, Lucky shared some of his coffee with me because he knew I’d run out.

“I know you’ll see me again,” he said. “Keep writing and don’t give up. You’re going to make it.”