Johnny Conaway was born 46 years ago at his grandmothers house, delivered by a midwife, into a lower-income black family in rural Rutherford County.

Before he was 3 months old, his parents moved to the projects of south Nashville. One of Johnny’s first memories, about age 6, was of a guy bleeding from a knife wound, riding a bicycle. The guy had been involved in a shooting and was looking for a place to hide from the police. Johnny’s dad let the man hide in their house.

“After that, the sirens always sounded like they were coming after me,” Johnny said.

His father worked at the 3rd National Bank and his mother worked at Clover Bottom mental health facility. With the combined incomes, the family was able to move to a middle class, white neighborhood. Petitions were signed by many neighbors to prevent the family from moving in, but eventually they were accepted and over time, they just became “the n*****s that lived in the neighborhood.” Such was the mentality of the late 1960s in Tennessee.

On one occasion he remembered a girl saying to others choosing up sides to play ball, “Somebody pick Johnny, he can’t help it he’s a n*****.” When the kids would go into the house to get a drink, Johnny had to wait on the porch for his, usually brought in a Styrofoam cup. Once a child brought him Koolade in a glass, and when the boy carried it back in, Johnny overheard the child’s mother say “What did you give that n***** a glass for? Now I’ll have to throw that glass away.” All of this may sound shocking by today’s standards, but as Johnny said, “I grew up in a white culture. I dressed white, I acted white, it was just the norm. People would say racist things to me and I wouldn’t even realize it.” ##M:{read more]##

Johnny knew almost nothing of black culture until he entered the seventh grade at Bailey Junior High. At this time, integrated schools and bussing came to Nashville. For the first time in his life he was surrounded by other black children, most of whom laughed at him because he acted, dressed and talked white.

But after discovering a black neighborhood, Johnny began to hang out there regularly.

“I thought ?man, this is cool.’ The ice cream truck was playing James Brown, there were people hanging out on the corner throwing dice, drinking beer, kids playing in the street,” Johnny said.

There were drug dealers and they always seemed to be the coolest guys in the projects. During the winter they would burn old tires to stay warm while selling heroin on the street.

Johnny’s first crime was stealing a bicycle. All the other kids had a stolen bike, so he got one too. One day, all the kids had mini bikes, so he stole one of those also. At one point, they stole horses and kept them under a bridge. Johnny’s dad tried to keep him away from the projects, but Johnny felt more at home there.

“I know now why he didn’t want me there, but back then I couldn’t understand it. These people treated me like a human being and nobody called me n*****,” Johnny said. “The first time I got caught I was 16, I got caught stealing a car. My parents left me in juvenile detention overnight to scare me, and it worked. I promised my dad that I’d never go back over there. That lasted about a week. I decided, if I was going to do something that I could get caught at, it was going to be something I could get paid for.

“I talked a guy we call Slaughter into giving me a pound of weed. I was selling weed even before I got caught stealing. I got three months in the Spencer Youth Center for stealing that car. My parents made a deal that got me out of jail and into the army. It was 1979; I was 17 years old.”

After completing basic and AIT training, Johnny could be stationed just about anywhere in the world he wanted. He chose Ft. Campbell, the closest base to Nashville the army had. On the weekends, he could go home, back to where his troubles began.

“I was still doing the same thing I was doing before. One weekend I messed up, my car was broke down and I was going to miss formation. I saw this car pull into a daycare and the lady left the motor running. I just followed my instinct, I jumped in and drove off. I made it about 5 blocks.”

Johnny ended up in a halfway house and was allowed back in the military.

“I had just had my first kid. I got out early from the halfway house. I only did about 4 months, but I didn’t go back to Ft. Campbell. I stayed with my girl and my kid in Settle Court. When the time was up, I went back to Ft. Campbell, but the army just didn’t work out for me after that. They agreed to give me an honorable discharge and I went back to my old life.

“I met a guy named Zachary Alexander, He was my devil’s food. If it was illegal, he was doing it. I once was involved in a kidnapping and didn’t even know it. We robbed drug dealers. Once we robbed this guy and he didn’t have the money on him. So, I held him at gun point while his wife went and got the money. It was about $80,000. Found out later, there was more than that, but that’s all he wanted me to know about. There is no honor among thieves.

“We got popped between Nashville and Murfreesboro. We got 5 years for felonious robbery and robbery by trickery. I did two and half. I did that time at the Davidson County workhouse. It was a rough time, I could see the projects my girlfriend and I lived in. I spent two months in the hole, a six by four room with one light. They had a library wagon that would bring books around. After lights out, I would lay in the floor by the door and read by the light that came in. That’s where I met one of my best friends, a bug. That bug was so big, he had a neck. I don’t know what kind he was, but he was always there.

“When I got out, I went back to the same neighborhood. I started doing and selling cocaine. I got caught twice selling cocaine. The last time I was caught in a setup at Murfreesboro Motel. I got five years.

“When I first went to prison, I was young, 20 years old. I thought prison was for young, tough, thugs. But when I got there I saw old men. I remember thinking, ?man, what are they doing here? They ain’t dangerous, they should be out fishing with their grandkids.’ I went to an old guy and said, ?hey Pops, give me a light.’ Pops is what you called the old guys in prison. I told another guy, man there ain’t no way in hell, I’m gonna be here when I’m that age. I started thinking, my kids are having kids now. Then, one day in 1998, a young guy asked me ?Hey Pops, how about a light?’”

Johnny was released from prison in 2000 and was determined he had seen the last of the inside of a prison. Johnny went to work doing construction. In 2003 Johnny landed a career job at a warehouse distribution center. In three years he had risen to supervisor. In 2006 Johnny bought a house in a nice neighborhood and a new car. He had turned his life around.

Johnny’s time in prison did have some positive aspects. In 1987 he received his GED at the Turney Center Correctional Facility. He went on to take college-level computer training, and he was working on his cosmetology license when he was released from Lake County correctional facility. But the skill learned in prison that Johnny is most passionate about is woodworking.

“Wayne County Prison had a craft shop. Guys would make stuff in there and send it home. I got on the list and eventually got into the shop,” Johnny said.

Other inmates taught Johnny how to take raw lumber and turn it into furniture. In January 2008 Johnny and a business partner opened a small business in Murfreesboro called simply “The Wood Shop.”

“If it’s made out of wood we can build it. That’s our motto. We have built things like cedar chests, grandfather clocks, customized humidors, the book case The Pulse keeps its back issues in, picnic tables, wardrobes closets and custom speaker boxes for cars. We even built a throne for a guy to go over his toilet.”

Johnny says his struggles are not over. Since he got a later start he sometimes has problems controlling his finances. While most people were learning to balance a budget, he was in prison. Johnny is living proof that second and even third chances come to those who are willing to work for it.

“I was raised right, I chose wrong,” Johnny said. “But now my father is proud of me. He told me I succeeded where most people with my past would have never have overcome the odds.”