It has been my experience that because of institutional and individual racism

The Angolite.
In 2001, one of our lawyers had reached out to

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Sinclair to ask him if he’d heard anything about the murder; as an editor at
the magazine he had a lot of freedom at Angola and knew a lot of prisoners.
Sinclair, who was still incarcerated at the time, responded right away, writing
to my lawyer that he believed Herman and I were innocent because a prisoner
named Irvin “Life” Breaux told him so back in 1973; that he killed Miller,
and told him that Herman and I were innocent. Sinclair had nothing to gain
by coming forward. I had never met him. He and Herman were on the same
CCR tier for six months back in 1974. He said that he wanted to set the
record straight, writing, “I do not know Woodfox but I did get to know
Hooks. I met him in 1974 when I spent about six months in CCR. I had a
tremendous amount of respect for him. He is one of a half-dozen inmates
who, over the last three decades, left a lasting impression on me for his
courage, character and commitment.”
Billy Sinclair gave this sworn statement to my attorneys:
In March or April 1973, I met and became close personal friends with an African-American
inmate named Irvin “Life” Breaux. I met Breaux through the Prisoner Grievance Committee, a 36-
inmate grievance committee created at the Louisiana State Penitentiary by former Corrections
Director Elayn Hunt. I was on the “Executive Committee” of the Prisoner Grievance Committee
and a representative from the Big Yard. Breaux was a member of the general committee, a
representative of the Main Prison’s maximum-security cellblocks.
A recognized inmate leader, Breaux had been placed in maximum-security lockdown status for
alleged “black militant activities” following the April 1972 killing of an Angola prison guard
named Brent Miller. Breaux and I were part of a seven-member inmate team given quasi-official
approval to educate and encourage the general inmate population of the Main Prison Complex
regarding both the need and inevitability of the racial integration of the Louisiana State
Penitentiary.
In the spring and summer of 1973, Angola was experiencing a horrific wave of prisoner
violence and homosexual rapes. Breaux was instrumental in creating an organization called the
Brotherhood, a group of African-American inmates committed to saving young inmates from
homosexual rape and slavery. It was through the integration/Brotherhood efforts that Breaux and I
cultivated and maintained a very close personal relationship—a relationship fueled by our mutual
personal and political beliefs that the lawless, corrupt, and evil conditions prevalent at Angola had
to be changed.
Breaux was possessed by a militant ideology that subscribed to the belief that violence was an
acceptable and, under specific circumstances, a preferable means to bring about changes at the
state penitentiary. I was a budding “jailhouse lawyer” who believed that concentrated legal action
offered the best opportunity to produce the changes we both desired.
Breaux and I frequently discussed and debated our common objectives but different methods of
accomplishing those objectives. A strong bond of mutual trust developed between us; we became
“comrades in the struggle.”
It was during these discussions and debates that the subject of the killing of Brent Miller
surfaced, especially since Breaux had been one of the scores of African-American inmates who
had been placed in lockdown for “militant activities” in the wake of the Miller killing. In these
conversations, Breaux initially alluded to involvement in the Miller killing, stating that prison

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officials either knew or believed that he was involved in that crime.
It was common knowledge throughout the prison system that four inmates known as “the
Angola Four” had been locked up and were placed in CCR as the ones responsible for the killing
of Brent Miller. Breaux repeatedly insisted to me that those inmates were “innocent”; that they had
been “framed” by Custody Warden Hayden J. Dees. He was contemptuous of the notion that two
of the Angola Four inmates, Chester “Noxzema” Jackson and Gilbert Montegut, could even be
called “black militants” (a term that Breaux took particular pride in)
He became especially incensed when talking about how the other two Angola Four inmates,
Albert Woodfox and Herman Wallace, had been “framed” by Warden Dees.
I placed significant credence in what Breaux told me. Hayden J. Dees “ruled” Angola in that
era; Angola belonged to him. He operated with an official fanaticism against “black militants” and
communism. Following one of the first disciplinary hearings at Angola at which I was allowed to
participate as an “inmate counsel,” Dees approached me, livid and irrational, and accused me of
being a “communist.”
So it was natural for Breaux and I—the “black militant” and the “white communist”—to discuss
Dees and his role in the “Angola Four” case. One day Breaux told me—and it was the first of
several times that he told me—that he and others had actually killed Brent Miller. He stated that in
April 1972, he and others were committed to a plot to kill twelve known black “snitches.” The plot
called for all the snitches to be killed simultaneously in different parts of the prison on the day
Miller ended up being killed.
Breaux told me that Brent Miller walked into the Pine dormitory as he and other inmates were
separating for distribution the weapons that would be used in the attacks on the snitches. He
described a confused scene in which the inmates initially tried to subdue Miller but that Miller was
either stabbed or cut. Breaux said a collective and instantaneous decision was made by the inmates
to kill Miller because he had recognized them, and then to “get rid” of the weapons.
I never once asked or probed Breaux about this incident. The information was far too sensitive
even to know and, frankly, it was not a subject matter that I wanted to talk about. But there was
certainly more than one conversation during which he told me that he had killed Miller . . . ; that
Dees and other prison officials knew he was involved; that they could not charge him with the
crime because it would expose the fact that the “Angola Four” had been framed; and that he would
eventually “be killed” because of his role in, and knowledge about, the Brent Miller killing. Irvin
“Life” Breaux was stabbed to death at the Louisiana State Penitentiary on August 11, 1973, by two
inmates named Gilbert Dixon and Willie Carney.
In another statement, the one that Rob and Billy got with an investigator,
a prisoner who was a teenager in 1972 swore he was in Pine 1 the morning
Brent Miller was killed. He said that two “sissies”—gal-boys—and their
prisoner-pimp, who “owned” them, were arguing with a fourth prisoner,
Leonard “Specs” Turner, when Miller walked in. “They had knives and
Miller saw it” the witness said. He said the snitches and their pimp jumped
Miller and started stabbing him. “Albert Woodfox was not there,” he stated.
“Neither was Herman Wallace or Gilbert Montegut. Chester Jackson was not
involved with the stabbing. I left the dorm, past Miller on the ground, and
went over by the laundry. That’s when they locked everything down.”
Another prisoner told one of our investigators that a prisoner paid by the
pimp to protect the snitches in Pine 1 attacked Miller. He was a very

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powerful prisoner who ran gambling operations and drugs on the walk,
known as a “shot caller”, and was supposedly very close with some security
officers because he made money for them, selling dorm assignments and jobs
to prisoners. Also, in this version, Chester Jackson allegedly helped the shot
caller, who he was supposedly good friends with, kill Miller. In this version,
Irvin Breaux and a few other prisoners who didn’t live in Pine 1 were also
there. (Had they come to the dorm that morning to kill the snitches but
instead got involved with killing the guard? We don’t know.) The shot caller
who allegedly killed Miller in this version supposedly confessed to his
girlfriend close to his death. He said he felt sorry Herman and I took the fall
for Brent Miller’s murder, but he didn’t want to go back to prison. Another
purported witness who was interviewed said he saw prisoners who didn’t live
in Pine 1 walk toward the dorm that morning “suited up,” meaning armed,
and “dressed in raincoats with hoods up and tied in front of their faces,” but
he didn’t see what happened next.
I don’t know what to make of these theories. Most of them came to us
through investigators from statements that were not signed. Every prisoner
who claimed to have seen Brent Miller’s murder and who talked to an
investigator—or to anyone—about the killing had his own interests in play,
either protecting himself or his reputation, or protecting someone he liked, or
possibly hurting someone he didn’t like. We also got a statement from
Chester Jackson’s younger brother, Noel Murphy, who had been a prisoner at
that time of Miller’s killing. He swore Jackson told him he (Jackson) killed
Miller, and that Herman and I were innocent, but Jackson lied about me and
Herman to protect Murphy, who was 20 at the time, as well as to protect his
stepson (who was also at Angola then). Murphy said Chester Jackson was
told by authorities that he, Murphy, would be tortured along with Jackson’s
stepson if Jackson didn’t lie about us. He said Jackson had promised his mom
he would take care of him in prison. Did Chester Jackson kill Brent Miller? I
saw him in the dining hall that morning at breakfast. Everett Jackson, who
was with me during the time Miller was killed, also testified he saw him at
breakfast. A different prisoner claimed in another statement to have seen
Irvin Breaux at breakfast that morning. Did the murder happen earlier than
the coroner said? Did it happen later? There is no way to know. The only
value these statements have to me is the one consistent thread that runs
through them: that Herman and I weren’t there.

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Billy Sinclair was the first person who had any knowledge of Herman’s
and my innocence to come forward. As a journalist and editor of