“I was 19 years old. Just knowing I would be going so far from everything I knew and loved was devastating, but what choice did I have? I no longer had a choice in anything - what I wore, what I ate, what time I went to bed. None of it was under my control any longer, and all for a crime I did not commit. I hadn’t taken a life, yet I felt like MY life was now under threat every single day.” - Mike Crump

Learn more about Mike’s case by reading Part 7 of Mike's own description of his wrongful conviction, presented by the Death Row Soul Collective on Facebook on July 12, 2022. 

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Part 7 - The Walking Dead

Mike speaks…

My mind remained on my appeal from the moment of my conviction in March 1996, and throughout the sentencing process and hearing in May 1996. I couldn’t think further ahead than me successfully having my conviction overturned, walking out of prison and going home to my family and loved ones.

Serving out the 40 year sentence handed down by the judge was NOT an option. I was 19 years old. I couldn’t spend the next 4 decades behind bars for something I did not do. I was as devastated as my mom and sisters by everything that had happened since the day I had walked into that police precinct the previous October back in 1995, but did I show it? No. At the age of 19 I was going to have to become a man, and pretend I was more than capable to get through the madness and chaos that was thrown at me each day in prison, whilst I awaited the outcome of my appeal. I had no other choice.

As crazy as it may sound now, even at that point I was still confident that I would clear my name. However until then, I had to endure the same process as anyone else who had been convicted of heinously taking a life.

I was disgusted and devastated that I had now been officially and legally labelled as the killer of Eric ‘Nike’ Jones, but I have never wanted his name to be forgotten in all of this. Despite me allegedly taking his life, Nike, and his family, remained on my mind every day that I was behind bars. He was gone and his family were grieving…but now my family were also grieving. In fact, both of our families were significantly affected by the events that happened on the evening of October 3, 1995; an incident which had lasted just seconds would impact us all for the rest of our lives.

The first stop on my prison journey after sentencing, was the Southampton reception and classification center. This was essentially a prison preparation course, where they prepare you for ‘real’ prison. Three months of assessments, interviews, and of course, rules. This was a taste of what was to come.

I completed all the forms put in front of me, which included answering a question about the prison I would prefer to go to. Yes, they give you a choice of where you would like to spend endless days, months and years sitting behind bars. I wasn’t an expert on prison life, but I knew there was one prison I did NOT want to go: Greenville.

Greenville had the worst reputation. It was a “super” maximum security prison, filled to the brim with the worst of the worst; the scum of this earth. This was no place for petty criminals. Greenville was home to double murderers, rapists, kidnappers, pedophiles and death row inmates, all crammed into tiny concrete cells. Greenville was well known for being violent and hostile. Probably one of the bleakest environments a human can imagine.

I made it clear that Greenville was the last place I wanted to go, and truly believed that I wouldn’t be sent there. I was 19 years old. I had no prior history of violent crime. There was no need for me to be placed in a maximum security facility along with the worst criminals in the state, right?

Wrong! When I was told that the first stop on my prison journey was going to be Greenville, my sadness was further compounded by the fact that it was situated many hours away from my family and where I grew up in Roanoke. In fact, the journey for my family would be a 7 hour round trip each time they wanted to see me. Just knowing I would be going so far from everything I knew and loved was devastating, but what choice did I have? I no longer had a choice in anything- what I wore, what I ate, what time I went to bed. None of it was under my control any longer… and all for a crime I did not commit.

Greenville would become my home for the next 2 and a half years, and in order to survive I was going to have to learn how to deal with fellow inmates. Many of them had a chip on their shoulder, angry with the world and the cards they had been dealt with, and willing to take it out on anyone who crossed their paths. Unlike me, most were guilty of the heinous crimes they had been convicted of. Some had already been there for 40 or 50 years. Some would be dying behind bars. Many probably envied the death row inmates as they would be escaping from this hellish environment when their ‘final’ punishment was doled out to them.

I just wanted to keep my head down and survive. I was transferred to Greenville by bus, along with some of the other inmates who had attended the Southampton “prison prep course” alongside me. I remember the day we arrived. We were probably all terrified, but we didn’t show it. Instead we made a vow to each other in the holding cell that we would stick together no matter what, and always have each other’s backs. That vow made me feel slightly better about what I was about to face.

As my new life at Greenville began, I stayed 100% focused on my end goal, which was to get the hell out of the place as soon as possible. I kept myself out of trouble and tried to keep my nose clean. I didn’t want those in power to have any excuse to keep me behind bars for the next 40 years. Each day I plastered on a smile and acted like the likeable guy and class clown, that I had been before this whole nightmare had begun.

Unfortunately, there were some inmates who would never like you no matter what you did. They could hate the way you talked, the way you walked, or even the way you wore your prison clothes. You didn’t need to do anything– they could want to harm or kill you just because they felt like it.

The police, the state, the prosecution, the judge, even my own attorney, had put me on this journey. I hadn’t taken a life, yet I felt like MY life was now under threat every single day. I often lay awake at night in my prison cell wondering if I would even make it to the outcome of my appeal.

I had been transferred to Greenville in September 1996, and would not hear the outcome of my appeal until 3 months later, in December 1996. It felt like an eternity. Until then, I was forced to sit tight and stay strong in one of the worst prisons in the state of Virginia.

I remained positive, but this entire time I had little to no contact with my public defender. My calls to him went unanswered. His visits were non-existent. I wondered what he was doing, and how he was fighting to prove my innocence. However, I was now in a place where I had no voice, no power and I was unable to shout my innocence from the rooftops.

Despite his silence, I remained confident my defender would get me justice. After all, I didn’t do this. I was INNOCENT. I had the truth on my side. I kept telling myself that was the main thing- that I hadn’t taken Nike’s life. I would not take ANYONE’S life. I wasn’t a killer! Even now in 2022, my prison record shows no history of violence, despite witnessing violence at varying degrees on an almost daily basis for the past 2 and a half decades.

Thus, despite the lack of contact from my defender, I tried to remain patient. I felt hugely relieved when I finally received a receipt confirming that my appeal had been filed by my defender. This meant that my case would be reviewed by a judge. Now it was just a waiting game. Now, I just had to get through each day in one piece, until I got the outcome and could go home to my family.

Sadly, despite my confidence and continued faith that the justice system would finally serve justice, I was about to receive news that would devastate my loved ones and I all over again.

However, until then, I did everything in my power to reassure my family (and MYSELF) that I would be home soon. I told my mom and sisters everything would work out…everything would be ok. If I kept repeating it and believing it, then surely I would not spend the next 40 years behind bars as an innocent man...

At least, that is what I convinced myself…

*At the age of just 18 years old, Michael Crump was arrested and wrongfully convicted of the tragic murder of 21-year-old Eric “Nike” Jones in Virginia after an eyewitness misidentified Mike due to his hoodie.

*Please sign and share this petition, which the nonprofit UNCUFF THE INNOCENT will be using to support Michael Crump's case for freedom by urging Virginia’s Governor and Attorney General to investigate his wrongful conviction.

#WrongfulConviction

#InnocenceMatters 

#PrisonLife 

#FreeMikeCrump