James Barham's legs shake as he crawls across the creaky, wooden floor. He presses his hands firmly on the cold, hard surface and strains to drag his weak legs behind him. Barham is desperate to conquer the stairs in the three-story building. As he spends his first night as a free man at the Muncie Mission, the other men at the shelter take turns carrying his chair up and down the stairs as Barham moves along one inch at a time.
"The mission did not have wheelchair access, but I didn't let that get me down," Barham said. "I just told them, 'God gave me a butt, he gave me knees, and I don't mind crawling, and I don't mind scooting."
After a rocky childhood that led to a life of rebellion, drugs and alcohol, Barham found himself incarcerated at age 25. Barham hosted a house party in August of 1981 where a girl was sexually assaulted. Because the 13-year-old victim was intoxicated at the time of the attack, she was only able to provide the police with a vague description of the suspect. The description resembled Barham. Despite inconclusive evidence that compared samples at the crime scene to samples collected from Barham, he was found guilty of child molestation, criminal confinement and battery.
Barham spent the first few years in prison buying and selling drugs and alcohol. He became tired of his lifestyle and made the decision to take advantage of prison rehabilitation. Through counseling, Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and encouraging teachers and friends, Barham was able to overcome his addictions and focus on his faith and his education. He earned his general equivalency diploma and his associate's degree in prison.
Barham was released early for good behavior on Aug. 10, 2005, after spending 24 years behind bars.
MUNCIE MISSION
The living arrangements that Barham made in prison fell through only a few days prior to his release when he learned that the apartment complex in which he planned to live was not handicap-accessible.
When the day came for him to be released, he had nowhere to go. He had no family and no friends outside of prison, so he was taken to the Muncie Mission until he could arrange for his relocation.
Minister Mark Garringer, the night supervisor at the mission, did not expect Barham to be dropped off that night. Garringer was concerned because the facility does not have wheelchair access, but he didn't have the heart to turn Barham away.
The minister appreciated Barham's passion and determination, and said that Barham got along with every man at the mission.
"He was a neat fella," Garringer said. "There was no friction with him, but I don't see why there would be; he was a great resident."
The minister described Barham's stay as pleasant and friendly. According to Garringer, Barham made friends with the residents, told stories and talked to everyone he saw.
Barham's experience at the mission is what he describes as demonstration of human compassion and kindness.
"The men there had nothing, but they gave me what they could," Barham said. "They gave me everything."
Barham had changed his ways, Garringer said, and was always smiling. Garringer said that Barham was a conversationalist.
"James did everything right, and he did it well," Garringer said. "I'm glad he's out; I think he'll make good of it. James didn't let any grass grow under his feet."
TECHNOLOGY
During his time at the mission, Barham often explored Muncie, and the technological advances impressed him.
"We had walkie-talkies and thought we was on top of the world+â-¡ - now everybody got a cell phone," Barham said.
The first cell phone he saw left him completely in awe. He couldn't help but stare at the woman as she ranted and raved to the person on the line. She noticed Barham looking at her, and started to feel uncomfortable. She'd occasionally look back to catch his eyes locked onto her.
"I don't mean to scare you," Barham said to the woman. "That's the first cell phone I've ever seen."
"And here's your menu," she said.
"Oh, no thank you," Barham said. "I'm not hungry."
Barham was impressed when he discovered that he could store numbers in his phone rather than dial each number when he wanted to reach a friend.
In the house he rents on Tillotson, Barham has Comcast digital cable, a scanner, a camera phone and a DVD player. He's catching on quickly to the technology and created his first PowerPoint presentation on his laptop last week.
"I can surf without getting wet," Barham said about browsing the Internet. "No water involved at all."
While he was in prison, Barham counted every day. Now that he's out, he's determined to make every day count.
"When I remember where I come from, I can't be upset," Barham said. "Looking back and remembering my past keeps me humble."
BALL STATE
Barham left the mission and made it in time for late registration at Ball State University. His professors in prison had encouraged him to enroll at Ball State. He was hesitant at first, but according to Barham, it was the best decision he's ever made.
"I'm happy I came here," he said. "I thank God for my professors. One of them can even see me with a master's degree. Thank God for putting those professors in my life and for the opportunity to go to school. Part of me was reluctant. I wasn't sure if it was going to be one of the stupidest decisions of my life. It was a leap of faith. And now I know it's the greatest blessing that ever happened to me."
"College students have the world by the tail, and they don't even know it," Barham said. "There's so much to learn out there, and education is so important."
Denise Amschler, Barham's women's health teacher, enjoys having Barham in her classroom because of his interest in learning and sharing his life experiences, she said.
"He brings much to classroom discussion," she said. "He is very polite and respectful of others."
His schoolwork has impressed Amschler, but she is most impressed by his willingness to work hard in her class. According to Amschler, his contributions add to the quality of the classroom, and he shares with his classmates the lessons he has learned throughout his life.
"He is so positive about everything and is always very appreciative of any help he may receive," Amschler said. "James is very candid about his life and over time has gained wisdom and compassion from his many experiences, including his mistakes."
So far, Barham has experienced only kindness at Ball State. He makes a point to speak to almost everyone he passes on his way to class.
"Everyone I've met so far, all the students have been helpful, cordial and considerate," he said. "I was sick, and I missed some school, and a girl in my class made copies of her notes for me."
Barham has shown the same kindness to all the students he has met. While studying at the library, as Barham does daily, he noticed Patricia Atherton, a girl he had never met before, on crutches and having trouble maneuvering through the doors. He rolled his chair over to her and assisted her in opening the door. She was grateful that Barham was willing to lend a hand, but disgusted that Barham, in a wheelchair, was the only person who was willing to help her out.
Atherton said that she and Barham approached the door at the same time, along with a few other able-bodied people. Even though people could see her struggling on her crutches, Barham was the only person who helped her open the door.
One of the things Barham likes most about Ball State is eating lunch with his friends in the Atrium. He loves being able to choose what to eat, and the piece of cheesecake he ate last week was the best thing he's tasted in 24 years, he said.
Barham is enjoying his classes and maintaining his high GPA. He plans to pursue his master's in psychology and become a substance abuse counselor. He dreams of one day opening up a facility to counsel young people headed down the wrong path.
"If a facility had been available for me, I might not have been so into drinking and into drugs," he said.
Despite the hardships, Barham has maintained nothing but a positive attitude, and faces each day as if it were a gift. He has gained enough strength in his legs to be able to walk short distances with assistance, even though his medical records state that he would never be able to stand. He loves his life, and considers himself to be a "living miracle."
Barham often thinks about his mother watching over him, and he knows that she would be proud of the way he has turned his life around.
"Before, she was looking down, seeing me putting needles in my arm, see me drinking, acting silly," he said. "I can't erase the pain I put her through. In a way, I was no better than the man who killed her. But now, she can look down at me and be proud. She can look down at me and smile and say, 'That's my son.'"