Model prisoner's transformation from thug to a man with a mission to do good

TRACEY L. FISHER has made some mistakes. Big ones. The kind that have kept him behind bars for the majority of his life.

Yet, while he regrets harming others and disappointing his family, he accepts the errors that he's made.

"I wouldn't change a thing I've done, because it's made me the person I am now," he said.

That person, according to fellow inmates and supporters, is a spiritual guide and life coach to dozens of prisoners at the Federal Correctional Facility at Fort Dix, in Burlington County, N.J.

He is the only inmate allowed to address new inmates during the orientation process. He teaches a weekly standing-room-only workshop focused on getting rid of "stinkin' thinkin'." He urges others to learn from his mistakes and not to repeat them.

"He is truly a testament that we can change and return home and be positive influences in our family as well as society," fellow inmate Duan Somers wrote in a letter. "I have watched him accomplish feats that would appear to be insurmountable for an inmate."

A spokeswoman for the federal Bureau of Prisons said that no officials would be able to comment on the activities of a specific inmate.

Fisher, 44, is scheduled to be released in about a year. He'd like to continue his outreach work on the outside.

"I see me in a lot of the younger guys coming through here," he said. "I already was part of the problem. Now I try to come up with the solutions."

Fisher grew up in West Philadelphia, around 58th and Media. He described it as a "beautiful community. We were close." The youngest of four children, he was the only one to engage in criminal activity.

"Instead of following in the footsteps of my siblings and going to school and staying away from nonsense, I let society dictate to me what I should be," he said. "I'm the only one in my family who ever had handcuffs on them."

He sold drugs in his neighborhood. He remembers kids looking up to him "like I was a professor with a Ph.D."

"And I was the reason there was no food in their house, because their mothers were buying my drugs and their fathers were stealing their stuff to sell," he said. "A lot of people wonder what makes me tick: I owe my community."

At 21, he was arrested on a slew of charges, including aggravated assault, armed robbery and drug possession. He's been in jail ever since.

Fisher said that he wasn't always a model prisoner. He was "arrogant, ignorant," he said. His change came about seven years ago, when he was locked up with a bunkmate who went on and on about how wonderful his old criminal life had been.

"I saw a young man who looked like me when I was his age: same height, same weight, same complexion and same ignorance," he said. "It dawned on me that this was me. This was how I sounded."

He vowed right then to change.

"We have to look to what comes next," Fisher wrote in one of the handouts he gives to prisoners. "Where do we go from here? How do we stop the cycle? How do we rebuild instead of destroy our neighborhoods?"

After learning that the Daily News was considering an article on Fisher, Fort Dix inmates barraged the newspaper with letters attesting to his character.

"He has a deep and broad understanding of prison life," wrote Ira Weiner, a fellow prisoner. "If anybody can prevent inmate recidivism, he can."

Inmate John Kurzel said that Fisher's classes often focus on rebuilding familial relationships because no matter which crimes individuals committed, they all have one thing in common: They let their families down.

"Mr. Fisher encourages us to build character within ourselves," Kurzel wrote. "I must say that I am working on that as we speak and as you read this letter. An inmate had spoken to me - not a counselor or administrator. . . . Inmate helping inmate."

Robert Bradbury wrote that Fisher "has helped me understand the effects my criminal offense has had on my family. I also have seen how his talks have helped younger inmates who are much more likely to be repeat offenders. I believe his 21 years of experience will help these young men avoid his mistakes."

Bobby Burks called Fisher "a messenger." Somers called him "selfless, impartial, dependable, charismatic and genuine."

"His passion and willingness to aid others is incomparable here," Somers wrote. "He has helped countless people over the years in a myriad of ways including myself."

In one of his classes, Fisher offers a 10-step blueprint for staying out of jail.

Some of it is practical advice: Get a job. Stay away from people involved in a criminal lifestyle. Become a positive influence in your children's lives.

Other parts are more spiritual: "Don't worry about whether other people believe in you as long as you believe in yourself."

"Recidivism is a door open to all of us," Fisher said.

Some of Fisher's supporters have compared him to motivational speaker Les Brown. He's quick to remind them that he's led a totally different life, but he has similar goals.

"My intention is to play an important role in the community to help mold the youth of Philadelphia," Fisher said.

When he addresses his groups, he tries to let them know that prison, as bad as it is, can be a positive experience.

"This is a place you can learn," he said. "This is the university of hard knocks. It costs more to come here than it does to go to any other college in society. You might as well get a degree while you're here."

Fisher said that he's on the right path now. He has no plan to waver. And his messages are catching on: When an inmate is speaking or acting in a negative way, it's not unusual to hear someone shout: "Stinkin' Thinkin'!"

"For the first time in my life," Fisher said, "my mother is telling me how proud she is of me."