Unfinished Business: Beaver Duck by Wilbert Rideau 1996

During my 20 years with the Angolite we've tried to correct and humanize public perception of our caged world and those who work, struggle and die in it. The most recent effort was a one-hour television documentary that aired last August 21 on Discovery Channel, "Final Judgment: The Execution of Antonio James."

It took a year to do and almost didn't happen, for a number of reasons. Film makers Jonathan Stack and Elizabeth Garbus of Gabriel Films in New York City came to my rescue two weeks before the March 1 execution. Our collaboration resulted in a great film that provided an intimate look at the pain and passions of those whose lives were forever changed, or unchanged, by the execution of Antonio James. But while "Final Judgment" was produced, the story of another prisoner facing death went undone.

His name was Anthony Fields, but everyone called him "Beaver Duck." He came to Angola in 1971, a teenager with life terms for two New Orleans rapes. The prison was sinking into an era of barbarity that would earn it the distinction of being the bloodiest prison in the nation. It was a bad time. Beaver Duck was raped and enslaved, forced to be a wife to his rapist. Afterwards, he was used and abused by predators, traded, sold and used as collateral, escaping this role only a decade ago. Vengeful souls might regard this horrific experience as a kind of poetic justice.

Beaver Duck came to me in early February, dying of lung cancer, robbed of whatever dream for the future that had sustained him through his ordeal. He wanted to tell his story on film, to share the tragedy of his pained existence with the world. Having become a Christian, he wanted his 25 years in Angola to be of value to others, for it all not to have been a waste. His was a story I yearned to tell.

Too many things were happening, not enough time. There was the merciless countdown to the execution of Antonio James. I was committed to that story, wanting to salvage some value from his needless, yet inevitable death. Then two Angolite members died and the magazine fell far behind schedule.

Beaver Duck lived in my dormitory. There was no escaping him. His eyes asked when I'd bring the camcorder and begin filming. He reminded me each morning, "I'm ready when you're ready. Waiting on you." "Hang in there," I'd say. "Soon!" Though ever mindful his health was deteriorating, I was caught up in a tide of demands and activities. I was very frustrated at my inability to find the time to get back to him. Friends warned, "Time's running out." Beaver Duck became so weak he was placed on the medical ward. Still, he sent word from his hospital bed not to forget his story. I really wanted to do it, had even gotten a green light from my boss, but couldn't find the time. He remained unfinished business. I finally went to the hospital, not to film, but to tell him his request to be furloughed to die outside with his family had been denied. "That means I'm gonna die in prison, huh?" he said, his voice low and filled with despair. I watched life leave his eyes. He died a week later. He was 43.

Antonio James's story was told, but not Beaver Duck's. I failed him. His sad eyes and imploring, "I'm waiting on you," joins a litany of others I could never find the time to get back to. They haunt my soul during times of reflection because I understand their disappointment. Like Beaver Duck and others, I too am unfinished business. Those who promised with the best of intentions to help, and could have made a difference, couldn't make the time. They never got back.