Vicki Thomas’ Gut-Wrenching Journey Through Her Husband's 8-Year Cannabis Incarceration

Stephanie Shepard • December 23, 2024

Last Prisoner Project’s Director of Advocacy Stephanie Shepard recently had the opportunity to sit down with Vicki Thomas, a woman whose family was devastatingly impacted by the war on drugs. Vicki's husband, Harold, was sentenced to 8 years in prison for a cannabis-related offense, leaving Vicki and their family to navigate the emotional and financial turmoil that followed. In this powerful interview, Vicki shares her story, the challenges she faced, her unwavering fight to bring Harold home, and her plea to President Biden to do for other families what could have been done for hers.


Life Before Incarceration

Vicki describes her family's life before Harold's arrest as a "normal" one - filled with family gatherings, vacations, and community involvement. Vicki says “We were just an average family, just making it, having family get-togethers, traveling, taking vacations, enjoying our five grandkids, just a normal life. There was nothing that I saw that was abnormal. Our kids were grown, and we got to spend quality time with our grandkids, went to church every week, and started different businesses”. Vicki was in school and was preparing for retirement and a move back to her hometown in Ohio when their world was turned upside down.


The Arrest and Aftermath

Vicki recounts the day when her husband was picked up and their home was raided. She was left in the dark, unsure of what was happening and how to navigate the complex legal system. "It was a very challenging time because I didn't know what was going on," Vicki says. “Not knowing what was going on with him in prison, how he was being treated, trying to talk to him over the phone, and sometimes he couldn't call, because things didn't work out electronically, or different things were going on in the prison and that brought on a lot of anxiety when I couldn't get in contact with him. I was a mess. I found myself crying a lot and very depressed." Despite their efforts to fight the charges, Harold was ultimately sentenced to 8 years in prison, a mandatory sentence that left Vicki and her family devastated.


Adjusting to Life Alone

The aftermath of Harold's incarceration was a profound struggle for Vicki. She describes feeling anxious, depressed, and alone, unable to confide in friends or family who had not experienced a similar situation. Vicki had to return to work to support the household, all while worrying about her husband's well-being in prison while enduring the financial strain of sending him money. "It was a financial hardship, and since I’d retired, I had to go back and find a job to try to keep the house. I didn't know who to turn to or talk to because I didn't know anyone; friend or family, that's ever gone through this. I couldn't talk to anyone at work about it. It was like my entire family and I were in prison too.”

When asked how her children dealt with Harold’s incarceration, Vicki said “My daughter had a hard time with it. She was trying to go to school, and I was trying to help her out, by babysitting and doing different things to allow her to have a somewhat normal life, because she was a single parent, there was so much going on, and that's very difficult position when you're a single parent. People don't understand the day-to-day struggles that go on. Thinking about feeding yourselves or do you pay your gas and electric bills? Sometimes you have to pick and choose different things while the rest of the world is going on, we were just trying to support one another. She finally got into cosmetology school and completed it this year, but the struggle was real. There were days that she couldn't make it to school because of transportation or different things that came up. She wanted to talk to her dad and have that support. My son stepped up and took the place of being the rock for the family. He tried his best to make sure that we were okay. It was hard because he's on the West Coast, but he did the best he could”.


The Fight for Harold's Release

Vicki and her family fought tirelessly to secure Harold's release, researching the law, filing paperwork, and even representing him in court. Vicki says “We were pretty much grassroots, doing our research, getting the paperwork together, going to the courts, submitting the paperwork, it was a daily grind. It was like a full-time job to see how we could get him out of jail”. She recounts the dramatic courtroom scene, where the prosecution brought in a large amount of marijuana as evidence, leaving Vicki and her daughter in tears. Harold was trying to advocate for himself, but it’s difficult to do when you have no support and he simply didn't have the support he needed. Despite their efforts, the judge ultimately sentenced Harold to a mandatory 8-year term, a devastating blow to the family. Vicki says “It was too much to even process at that time, to hear the sentence and to see Harold taken away, it was like someone had died. I felt like we were in mourning for eight years”. I couldn't talk to anyone at work about it. It was like my entire family and I were in prison too”.


Discovering the Last Prisoner Project

During her struggle, Vicki discovered the Last Prisoner Project, an organization dedicated to supporting individuals and families impacted by the war on drugs. Vicki said “I was seeking out organizations that supported people that were incarcerated for cannabis and Last Prisoner Project came up, and I was so overjoyed because I didn't think anyone was out there doing anything. The more I reached out, the more frustrated I got with the different organizations. They're helping certain populations, but they never returned to help in our case. So I just kept seeking and searching, and I finally found Last Prisoner Project”. She describes the initial interaction as a glimmer of hope, with a then law student researcher reaching out to express interest in Harold's case, Mariah Daly. "She made me feel like there's people out there that cared," Vicki says.


The relationship grew, “I thought it was going to be like the other organizations, they would take my information, and then I wouldn't hear back from them. I was in California one year, and I got a call from Mariah, and she was saying she was researching different cases, and Harold's came up and she said, “I want to see if we can help Harold”. She was awesome. I felt like I was just out there in space somewhere and that people probably thought I was crazy for asking people to help me, and here she was calling me, saying, “We want to try to help you”. She didn't make any promises. She just wanted to see if his case would fit. She said, “I have to take it back to the powers that be, but I just want to research and see what we can do. Let me get back to you”. I didn't hear for a while, so I just kind of forgot about it, because of my experiences with other organizations, but then I got contacted again by them, and I was like, “Oh my gosh, they're still around”. I was excited because they didn't forget about us. I was telling Harold, and he said, “Well, you know, those organizations are not going to really help us”, because being in there, he already had this thought that no one cares, right? But I said, “No, I really think this organization is going to help I really do”. Because of Harold's mandatory sentence, the courts just wouldn't budge, but like I said, just having the support that someone's trying. He said he got help with some commissary funding but he didn't know who it was from, I said, “Well, it probably was from Last Prisoner Project”.... and turned out it was! I said, “Oh my God, there they go again. We were so elated that somebody cared and that we were not walking this walk alone. The ongoing support from the Last Prisoner Project, including financial assistance and emotional encouragement, was a lifeline for Vicki and her family. 


The Lasting Impact and Calls for Change

Vicki emphasizes the devastating and long-lasting impact of cannabis incarceration on families like hers. "It's devastating. The impact is devastating. You can never get that time back," she says. Vicki calls for the release of all cannabis prisoners, arguing that the war on drugs has failed and that these individuals deserve to be reunited with their loved ones. She also urges President Biden to take action in the final days of his term, stating, "Let them out. It doesn't make sense. Half of America has legalized cannabis in some form now. These are people who deserve to be with their families, live their lives, and be economically independent just as much as anyone else does. They can contribute to society in so many ways and deserve a second chance to do that with how far the cannabis industry has come. I know President Biden understands the importance of family and we can never get that time back, so we have to find a way to forget it ever happened so that we can move forward because it takes a toll on everyone”. 


Vicki's story is a powerful testament to the human cost of the war on drugs and the urgent need for reform. Her resilience and determination in the face of overwhelming adversity are inspiring, and her call for change resonates with the millions of families impacted by the unjust criminalization of cannabis. As Last Prisoner Project continues its mission to right these wrongs, Vicki's story serves as a reminder of the profound impact of standing up for justice with compassion.


Check out Harold's perspective below:

Dads Should Be Home This Father's Day, Not in Prison for Cannabis

By Stephen Post • June 13, 2025
As families across the country come together this Father’s Day, thousands of children are spending the day without their dads—not because of violence or harm, but because their fathers remain locked away for cannabis-related convictions. In many cases, these men are serving long sentences for conduct that is now legal in much of the United States. Despite cannabis being decriminalized or fully legalized in the majority of states, the human cost of prohibition continues to devastate families—especially those in historically marginalized communities. These are fathers raising their children through prison phone calls and video visits, relying on letters and photographs to stay connected while missing birthdays, report cards, and everyday moments. Behind every sentence is a story. And behind every prison wall is a child wondering why their dad can’t come home. Daniel Longoria is one of those fathers. A U.S.-born, Hispanic man serving a 30-year sentence for a nonviolent cannabis offense, Daniel has not seen or held his children in years. The pain of distance, separation, and injustice weighs heavily on him. He shared the following: “When a Dad has not seen his kids, held his kids and who's son no longer speaks to him because I am over 1,000 miles away from home without a good cause puts such a heaviness in my heart that if I did not have God to turn to, I might have probably already ended my life. My son has now been diagnosed with Mental Behavior Disorder and has attempted suicide three different times. These things as a Father kill me inside because I was a great Dad and my kids loved me, and so Father’s Day is really hard to celebrate anymore. How can I celebrate this day, when I know my kids are struggling out there because of a plant that many states are now making millions, if not billions, of dollars off of it? I have also become a grandfather of two and have yet to meet them. I keep the faith and remain strong in the Lord. One day, I pray to be home and this nightmare be over.” Daniel’s experience is not an isolated one. At Last Prisoner Project, we work with dozens of fathers currently incarcerated for cannabis convictions—men who are missing milestones, parenting through prison walls, and holding on to hope for freedom. These dads include: Terrence Pittman – Father of five, serving a 30-year sentence Rollie Lamar – Father of six, serving an 18-year sentence Antoine Turner – Father of three, serving a 13-year sentence Malik Martin – Father of six, serving a 10-year sentence J’lyne Caldwell – Father of four, serving a 5-year sentence Vinh Nguyen – Father of two, serving a 6-year sentence Rendy Le – Father of two, serving a 5.5-year sentence Sean Scott – Father of one, serving a 5-year sentence Sean Scott’s story is particularly heartbreaking. A former Division I football player and successful real estate entrepreneur, Sean is serving over half a decade for a nonviolent marijuana offense involving nine kilograms and a legally owned firearm. While he remains proud of his past and hopeful for the future, he’s devastated to be missing out on his two-year-old son’s life. “This is my third time away,” Sean said. “And it’s extremely difficult to just watch my son grow and miss another holiday with him.” His fiancée is raising their son alone while also caring for Sean’s elderly mother. Sean is one of many fathers who should be home—not behind bars for something legal in so many parts of the country. Then there’s Rendy Le, a father of two, who reminds us what’s at stake. “You can always make money—but you can’t always make memories,” he said. “Cherish the good times.” It’s a sentiment echoed by every man we work with: time is the most precious thing they’re losing. Despite all this injustice, we also see the other side—stories of reunion, resilience, and redemption. Bryan Reid is one such example. After serving six years of a 12-year cannabis sentence, Bryan is now home and rebuilding his life with his children. “When I went in, my son was just one and my daughter was three,” Bryan told us. “I missed every first and last day of school. But now? Now I’m their sports dad, Santa, and biggest fan.” In the 15 months since his release, Bryan has made new memories—picking his kids up from school for the first time, visiting trampoline parks, and watching his oldest daughters graduate college. “Watching them grow into strong, independent women and seeing how hard they’ve worked for everything they have is nothing short of incredible,” he said. “It was an honor to stand beside them.” Bryan’s return to fatherhood, though hard-earned, is a reminder of why we fight. No one should be separated from their children over cannabis. No child should grow up wondering why their father is in prison for something now sold legally in dispensaries across the country. This Father’s Day, let’s do more than celebrate. Let’s commit to changing the laws, freeing the fathers, and reuniting families. Join us in advocating for clemency, resentencing, and restorative justice—for Daniel, Sean, Rendy, and the thousands of others still waiting to come home. Want to help this Father’s Day? Share their stories and donate to support our work! Bryan Reid Enjoying Freedom

Last Prisoner Project’s Journey to Justice Gala to Honor Impacted Families and Push the Fight for Freedom Forward

June 12, 2025
Wednesday, October 15 at Sony Hall in New York City Notable Guests Include Carmelo Anthony, Calvin “Megatron” Johnson, Dr. Wendy & Eddie Osefo, Fab 5 Freddy, Keith Shocklee and Studdah Man of Public Enemy, and Guy Torry with a Performance by Joy Oladokun PURCHASE TICKETS & MORE INFORMATION

Illegal Here, Legal There: Alexander Kirk’s Journey Through Cannabis Criminalization

By Stephanie Shepard • May 14, 2025
When Alexander Kirk walked out of prison on December 10th, he stepped into a world that had shifted beneath his feet. But the shift wasn’t universal. In Iowa, where he lives, cannabis is still fully illegal. Drive two minutes across the bridge into Illinois, and that same plant, once the root of his decade-long incarceration, is not only legal but a booming, billion-dollar industry. That contradiction sits at the center of Alex’s story. He’s a father, a mechanic, a reader, and a deep thinker. He’s also someone who spent more than ten years of his life behind bars for the same substance that dispensaries now sell with flashy packaging and tax revenue incentives. “It’s crazy,” he says. “One side of the bridge is legal, the other side isn’t. It’s hard to believe.” A Life Interrupted Alex’s most recent sentence—ten years in federal prison—started with a bust that was as much about timing and proximity as anything else. He was on federal probation for a previous cannabis offense. A raid at a residence he didn’t live in, but where his truck was parked, ended with a federal indictment. A tip from his child’s mother, who was angry about a disagreement over vacation plans, helped open the door for the investigation. “She made a call, gave them a tip,” Alex recalls, without bitterness, just clarity. “And that’s all it took.” The charges? Conspiracy to distribute less than 50 kilograms of marijuana—a charge that, while less than the quantities tied to large-scale trafficking operations, still carried weight under federal law. He received 80 months for the new charge and another 40 months for violating parole. The math added up to a lost decade. “I had already done ten and a half years the first time,” Alex says. “I was institutionalized. Prison became familiar. It’s where I knew how to move.” But even when you know the rules, prison isn’t easy. The hardest part for Alex wasn’t the food, the routines, or the guards—it was missing his children growing up. “I got five kids. Three of the older ones talked to me after and explained how I chose the streets over them. That was hard. But it was true.” He reflects on it now with a kind of painful honesty: “I didn’t want to pay for weed, so I started selling it. I smoked, and I hustled. Eventually, it got out of hand.” Knowledge Behind Bars Alex didn’t spend his time in prison passively. He worked in the prison garage, learning to fix cars—something he’d loved as a kid. He dove into books and self-help titles. One that stuck with him was The Voice of Knowledge by Don Miguel Ruiz. “That one changed things,” he says. “It helped me realize everyone’s got their own story they’re telling themselves. That helped me stop taking things so personally.” He also began thinking about the world beyond prison. He drafted a business plan for a youth program designed to keep teens from ending up like him. “I wanted to show them they had options,” he says. “You don’t always get that when you grow up in survival mode.” The Politics of Legalization What’s jarring about Alex’s story is not just the sentence—it’s the fact that it happened while the national conversation around cannabis was changing rapidly. By the time Alex was halfway through his sentence, multiple states had legalized recreational marijuana. Billion-dollar brands were being built. Politicians were posing for ribbon-cuttings at dispensaries. Celebrities were launching product lines. And people like Alex were still behind bars. “It’s unjust,” he says bluntly. “There’s no reason someone should be locked up for weed while companies are out here getting rich off it. The little guy got crushed. They legalized it after locking us up, but didn’t let us out.” The irony was never lost on him: that he was doing hard time for something that was now a tax revenue stream in neighboring Illinois. A Second Chance and Real Support Alex’s sentence was reduced under the First Step Act—a federal law aimed at correcting some of the harshest penalties in the justice system. Thanks to that and a longer placement in a halfway house, he was released earlier than expected. Through a friend, he reconnected with a woman from his past who introduced him to the Last Prisoner Project (LPP) . At first, he was skeptical. “We never heard about people helping folks like us. I didn’t think it was real.” But he gave it a chance—and found not just advocacy, but consistency. “Even getting emails, updates, hearing from people… that helped. It made me feel like someone gave a damn.” Through LPP, he learned that he qualifies as a social equity candidate in states with legalization programs. That means access to business licenses and support that could help him transition into the legal cannabis industry. He also learned he might qualify for early termination of his probation—a process he’s now pursuing. “I want to get into the legal side,” he says. “I know the game. I lived it. Now I want to do it right.” Life After Prison Alex is currently working in the halfway house kitchen. He’s trying to stay grounded, focused, and patient. Reentry is never easy. “You come out and everything is fast. You feel like you’re behind. But I remind myself: it’s not a race.” He’s rebuilding relationships with his kids. He’s focused on starting a business—maybe something in cannabis or something with cars. He hasn’t fully decided, but he knows he wants to help others, too.  “There’s still a lot of people inside,” he says. “And they shouldn’t be. Not for weed. If we’re really gonna legalize it, let’s legalize it for everybody. That means letting people go.” “Get to Know Their Story” Alex doesn’t want pity. He’s not asking for a handout. What he wants is what most people want: a chance to live free, to work, to be with his family. To matter. “Just because someone’s been to prison doesn’t make them violent. Doesn’t make them a bad person. Get to know their story.” Alex’s story is one of transformation, not because the system rehabilitated him, but because he did the work on his own. Now he wants to use his experience to change the system itself. He’s already started.