R.I.P.: Michael Colbert

Re/Creation recently lost one of its dedicated members and dearest friends.

Michael Colbert was a ray of light and a man who traveled with enthusiasm, sharing and leaving it everywhere he went. We cannot believe we’ll never again be witness to his charm, loving heart, and support. We will always remember Mike. He changed all of us. 

Please join us as we tell you how.

John Proctor

My heart is so full of both grief and thanks. My friend, student, and benefactor Michael Colbert passed on March 18, 2024. He was in my first workshop at Rikers Island and the first person for whom I wrote a letter of support for his parole board. Mike introduced me to my longtime co-facilitator Joni Schwartz when he attended her writing workshop at Queensboro Correctional Facility. Mike C was a thinker whose mind somehow traversed the stars on the subway train. He was a connector of people whom every person I know who met him loved as a brother. Mike was somehow both lowkey and high-strung, both attractive to everyone and encased in an impermeable solitude, and my own life would not have taken the directions it’s taken without his input, direction, and love. His love of people made me love people more. I loved Mike like a brother, and I’m just so, so sad that he’s gone and thankful that he was part of my life.

Even through his struggles, Mike wrote stories of the subway alongside intellectual and philosophical essays. After participating in my first writing workshops at Rikers Island and then Joni’s workshop at Queensboro, Mike worked with both of us to build the organization Re/Creation, which runs workshops and a publishing platform for people impacted by the carceral system. 

Some of his work is published on this website, including his free verse piece “The Longest Dream,” “As I grew younger,” and “How Doing Time Inspired Me to Write.” I played his recording of “The Longest Dream” at his funeral, and his friends and family cried and smiled at the sound of his powerful voice, like he was speaking from the waking side of a dream. We’ll be creating a posthumous Writer’s page for Mike C. in the coming months as we work through his unpublished work – including letters and, of course, his magnum opus, The Subway Stories — with his family — and decide the best way to share them.

Mike C was and is a giant to us and we will make a collection befitting him.

Sylvester Lawrence Jackson II

I don't know whether to be happy or sad, happy about the memories I got to make with Mike, or sad that I won't get to make new ones. I never knew what Mike was going to say, but I knew it would either bring a smile to my face or laughter to my heart. Not just a regular laugh, but one of those deep-down belly laughs, where you'd have to try and catch your breath because you were laughing so hard. The best part was when he had something really insightful to read during class, I’d wondered where he'd get this stuff from, it was, as usual, awesome, just like Mike Colbert.

Mike wrote a story entitled, “The Longest Dream.” This for me shall be the longest goodbye. I never thought I'd have to say goodbye to him. There were times when I wanted to leave our creative writing workshop. You'd think Mike would say something like you can't leave, we need you. Well, what he said was you can't leave because we love you. I guess I'm still not used to people loving me. Most of us don't always have special people in our lives. Michael was and shall always be that person. He made you feel special. His family brought me in when I wanted to stay on the outside. They gave me love when I didn't want to be loved.

I wrote a post on Facebook last week about my cancer. My best friend Tommy replied, “You can't go, I'm tired of losing all my friends.” I wish I'd said that to Michael. It's crazy we think of all the things we should have said and didn't when it’s too late. Well, here's something I know he's gonna hear no matter where he is.

“I love you, brother. I'll miss you forever.”

Carolina Soto

Michael, Mike, Big Mike, Mike C and Me

John and Joni were excited. Mike C was coming to the workshop. He was working nights and had little time or leeway. He may have still been on parole. 

“You’re going to love him! He is so interesting, unique, funny.“

Mike had a grin three miles wide that flashed out of some private space, the same one that was waiting to zap you with a quote or a lyric. 

It’s hard to beat a person who never gives up.

That was Mike, with a saying that he had committed to memory for every situation. Something to make you feel better, and laugh. He was shy at the first workshop we were in together but you could see how our two facilitators loved him, his originality, and his heart.

Our workshop was free and structured for formerly incarcerated writers. I had left prison fifteen years before. When I called Joni Schwartz, she said there are no restrictions just come and give us a try. Warm and welcoming. I sought out a community that had awareness of prison and I thought this might be my chance to get things down on paper. Joni had been teaching and facilitating workshops at Queensboro Correctional Center out of her teaching base at LaGuardia Community College. 

John Proctor was teaching academic writing, media studies, and communication theory at Manhattanville College. John’s activist streak was visible as well as exciting and sharable. Proctor was facilitating workshops on Rikers where he first met Mike. 

Mike entrusted John with all of his writing to be saved so it would not be lost when he was transferred upstate. When he came to Queensboro Facility, his last stop before home, he immediately enrolled in Joni’s writing class. He then connected John and Joni who cofacilitated the Restoration Plaza workshop

I was there alone with these two dedicated souls for months when Mike came by.

It’s hard to beat a person who never gives up.

I did not know what to expect but I found Mike offered a deep respect for me as a woman. Race and class are always in the room but never tainted our relationship. He was an unexpected man. He told stories from Islam although he was Christian. If the story was correct and explained, Mike owned it. He had studied religious books but never proselytized, only tried to creatively inform. He never used destructive, careless words or diminished someone in the eyes of others. He took away tension with his jive. His shout-outs were imaginative and funny. I first thought he was the class clown but he turned out to be more of a mentor. Mike encouraged me to write a book and would recite cover blurbs he wrote for his own books (to come). 

“Write one for me. Please!!”

He was differently creative. Mike took you to the stars and back in the twinkle of an eye, I am not saying quickly just that there was a voyage to be had when he entered the room. Philosophy comes in many forms and Mike’s oral tradition was impressive. His philosophy was one of understanding, intuition, laughter, and love. 

“Creativity is seeing what others see and thinking what no one else ever thought.”

His stories brought you into the clamor of the subway system where his “Supreme” persona dominated. Each story is a parable about understanding the people around you. You could find yourself listening to the last phone calls to friends and family before a woman jumps in front of a train. He proffered a glimpse into the worlds where people live, and their relationships to that world and to each other “The best way out is through.”

I looked forward to every workshop and the people I came to love. 

John was pushing us towards activism. We hammered out a collective together, set up writing schedules and meetings, and learned organizational skills and collective work ethics from Marzian, a cofacilitator on Rikers with John. People arrived to help and be part of us. Mike sometimes brought his love, Bernie, with him to a reading or workshop. We were thankful for her guiding hand and computer expertise that helped bring more of Mike’s writing to us. 

Bernadette,

 I celebrate the day that you changed my history of

 Life and death will always lead you into love and regret

 But you have answers, and I have the key

When the pandemic hit, we began to use Zoom. It was handy, it kept us together but our weekly workshops had become like big family meals. Nourishing and full of events. Our check-ins were better when you could reach out and touch someone’s hand.  

Our community is vulnerable. The opportunities are not the same once you have been in prison. Michael Colbert was a man of integrity who worked two jobs from the time he got out until the day he died. He was a man who stepped up to responsibility and away from the longest dream, his life.

Mike will be in my heart urging me to be a sweeter and better human being.

K. Michael Williams

In all the time I’ve known Supreme — Mike C — I don’t believe there was a single moment he said anything negative about anything or anyone. If he didn’t like somebody, you didn’t know it. If he was unhappy about a situation, he didn’t bother you with it. Mike always tried to be upbeat. Instead of complaining or joining you in your complaints, Mike brought a philosophical edge to the proceedings. He bypassed the negative and tried to highlight the positive even when there was nothing to be positive about.

Sadly, this didn’t cross my mind until I could no longer talk to him.

He had more imagination than a room full of writers. Mike loved intelligence and conversation. He embraced the idea of bouncing ideas off others. Give Mike a thought and he’d expound on it extensively, taking it into realms the rest of us might have never considered. Mike looked at a piece of art and gave you a world of realities. I recall Mike once giving me a synopsis of a book based solely on the cover art. That his thesis had nothing to do with the actual story seemed unimportant. His words flowed as he connected every detail of the art to create an actual story. But, as I said, he had an expansive imagination.

And that memory makes me miss Mike terribly.

My mom warned me you get used to this shit. Because the longer you live, the more you’re going to encounter these feelings and situations.

I hate that.

And I hate missing Mike C. And I’m not alone. He’s left a hole in many lives. One that will never fill.

R.I.P., my good friend, R.I.P.