Forty Years Ago, I Was a Boy.
Musings of Richard Berger
I am Richard Berger. But you wouldn’t recognize me anymore.
When I went to prison, Ronald Reagan was president. Gas was 90 cents.
Modern phones weren’t invented yet.
That boy? He’s long gone.
I was 24 years old when I was locked away. I am now 64.
I have spent more time behind concrete and barbed wire than I ever spent under the open sky. What’s left now is someone quieter, shaped by grief, faith, and four decades of silence. I had no idea how short life could be, or how long one could be held in a box. And I have changed.
Not because prison reformed me. Because I refused to let it destroy me.
I found truth and purpose, but I’ve lost enough!
In these four decades, I became someone else. I studied Torah. I mentored younger men. I led programs to end violence, and educated myself with the capabilities that I had.
I worked with chaplains, swept floors, answered letters from strangers who became friends.
40 years is a life sentence, even without death.
I have changed. I have grown. I have served more time than most will ever understand. And I am asking, humbly begging, please… let me come home! Let me hold the hands of the people who never let go of mine. Let me be a living lesson, not a forgotten man. I am not here to rewrite the past. I am here to ask for a future. If the justice system believes in change—let it prove it.
If we believe in mercy—now is the time to show it.
Let mercy speak louder than memory.
Let the man I’ve become walk free.
