Justyna M. in Criminal Justice
He spent 50 years fighting to leave prison. Now he helps others get out. – The Washington Post
This article is inspired entirely by the Washington Post’s piece, “He Spent 50 Years Fighting to Leave Prison. Now He Helps Others Get Out.”
John “Freddie” Nole spent fifty years in prison, battling for his freedom, only to find that leaving the walls of confinement wasn’t as liberating as he’d imagined. But through his struggle, he found a new purpose: helping others escape the same fate. He started offering rides to newly released prisoners, men who had no family or friends waiting outside the gate, their freedom marred by the fear of what awaited them beyond.
Nole’s journey began in the rough streets of South Philadelphia, where poverty and crime were everyday companions. At just 17, he was sentenced to life in prison for a robbery gone wrong—a crime that led to the unexpected death of a store owner. His two accomplices spent less than two years in jail, but Nole, charged as an adult, faced a harsh future. It took nearly five decades before the Supreme Court deemed life sentences for minors unconstitutional, finally allowing him a chance at freedom.
When he was released in 2019 at the age of 67, Nole stepped into a world that had drastically changed. Smartphones confused him, apps overwhelmed him, and the world of job applications, resumes, and background checks was a maze he could barely navigate. The rejection letters piled up: janitor, dishwasher, stocker—positions he’d hoped would offer him dignity and a fresh start.
But prison had taught him one thing: perseverance. As doors closed in his face, Nole found a new way to give back. Two years after his release, he started picking up other men as they exited the prison gates. These men, many of them strangers, shared a bond with Nole that needed no words. He knew what it was like to walk out with no plans, no support, and the crushing weight of expectation, only to face a world that saw him as nothing more than a former inmate.
One such day, Nole found himself waiting at the gates of SCI Phoenix, a place that once held him for nearly half a century. The man he was picking up, Franklin Hons, had written to Nole from the inside, asking for a ride and a laundry list of items—TV, stereo, and even a sofa. As Nole read the letter aloud to his friend, Pastor William Jones, they both knew Hons was setting himself up for disappointment.
“What he needs is a place to sleep, a job to keep him off the streets,” Nole said, shaking his head.
When Hons finally walked through the prison gates, he clutched a plastic bag and some papers, wearing the maroon uniform that marked him as an inmate even on the outside. Nole, remembering his own first day of freedom, offered him a fresh set of clothes and, more importantly, guidance.
They sat down at a local diner—Hons’s first meal as a free man—but the food barely touched his lips. His mind was consumed with thoughts of his old life, the people he’d left behind, and the temptations that awaited him in his hometown. Like so many others, Hons teetered between hope and the familiar despair that often led former inmates back to prison.
Throughout the meal, Nole listened, offering small bits of advice and an occasional nod of encouragement. He had learned, over the years, that what these men needed most wasn’t lectures or judgments. They needed someone who understood. Someone who had lived it.
As they drove toward Scranton, where Hons had to spend his parole, the conversation inevitably circled back to the life he’d left behind and the pitfalls that lay ahead. Hons spoke of an ex-girlfriend who still held a grip on his emotions and the fight that had sent him back to prison the last time. Every mile brought them closer to the motel where she stayed. And for a moment, Hons entertained the idea of stopping by. But with Nole’s quiet support and a gentle reminder of his freedom’s fragility, Hons made a choice to keep driving.
At Walmart, Nole helped Hons navigate the unfamiliarity of an ATM and stretch his meager prison earnings into essentials: a wallet, a belt, and a prepaid phone. With each small purchase, Nole watched as Hons began to shed the weight of his past. It wasn’t just the clothes that were new; it was the mindset, the determination to stay out and stay free.
As Nole dropped Hons off at his friend’s house, he reminded him of the road ahead—full of challenges and temptations. But Nole also knew that, with the right support, men like Hons could break free of the cycle.
Over the last two years, Nole had helped over 40 men on their first day of freedom. Some stayed out, and some didn’t. But each one had a chance—thanks to Nole and the lessons he’d learned through his own half-century struggle.
For John “Freddie” Nole, helping others leave prison wasn’t just an act of kindness. It was a way to reclaim his own life, to ensure that his time inside hadn’t been wasted. And through each man he helped, Nole found a new sense of freedom, one that extended far beyond the prison gates.
“A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself.” – Joseph Campbell
Justice Unlocked. 
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