The Power to Overcome Anything

By Pharaoh Future Johnson

Exposing and reversing the social engineering process that is sending our children to prison faster than any other culture in the world. The Power To Overcome Anything is a must read for both parents and children alike that want to be free of the biggest ring of human trafficking and corruption. The American prison system and its massive incarceration tactics have over 3.5 million incarcerated and if that was not enough they will do everything possible for you and or your child to be next. From the firsthand experience from a man who was a child when his freedom was taken without hesitation. Incarcerating him at the tender age of 14 years old to present day while having to experience the worst possible things ever to imagine of the system, all with one goal in mind, to prevent you or your child from being next.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667878454

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

The Power to Overcome Anything

Copyright © 2020 by Pharaoh Future Johnson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

ISBN 978-1-66787-845-4

Printed in United States of America

Dedication

This book is dedicated to My Mellerdean. I want you to know that I love you, and I want to thank you for giving me a chance.

Chapter 1

War Child

In the beginning, there was a war. I can’t take it anymore! If that baby doesn’t stop crying, I’m going to kill him right now! My mother screamed out loud.

Later in life, I learned that God heard my cries for help, and that’s something I think about every day. At just three months old, I was experiencing my second near-death experience in my life. The first experience was during my birth; the doctors found my umbilical cord wrapped around my neck three times. I was already being choked to death barely making my entrance into the world I was already being choked to death. Luckily I was blessed to have a doctor who made the quick decision to push me back inside my mother and perform an emergency C-section leaving her with this hideous scar to remember for the rest of her life. Statistically speaking giving birth can be one of the most painful yet dangerous experiences in a woman’s life, and my mother risked her life to give birth to me. For that reason alone, I will always love her.

After all the pain she went through to have me, and as quiet as I was, I’m still baffled as to why she mistreated my brother Jay and me so harshly growing up compared to the treatment she gave to my oldest brother Mel. I’m sure it had a lot to do with favoritism. Her imbalance of bipolar disorder combined with my constant crying whenever we were around each other didn’t help, which brought her to a breaking point just three months after I was born on August 1, 1991.

I got something for all that crying, she screamed while opening the kitchen drawers to grab a knife. Finally, holding a knife, she rushed to the crib where I was crying loudly.

Shifting her attention away from the thought of killing me was a loud knock at the front door, which was perfect timing as she was expecting any company this late at night.

Please don’t do it…open the door! An older woman screamed through the door, grabbing my mother’s attention even more.

Who are you? My mother asked as she swung the door open while holding on to the knife.

 My name is Mellerdean Robinson, and God sent me to come and get that baby. She answered.

 Well, you better hurry up. I was just about to kill him!

Mellerdean, shocked as she saw the knife and understood why she was given the message to come to my rescue. Following my cries, she ran passed my mother to retrieve me from the crib. Once in her arms, it seemed like I was at peace because I finally stopped crying. So full of love, she raised me until I was six years old before my mother came by to get me, and to this day, I wish she never did.

My Mellerdean and her husband Abe Robinson were heavens sent. Even as an adult, I still call her My Mellerdean. I felt loved when I was with her and her husband. A lesson I learned that held value within my life comes from Big Abe teaching me how to walk across a busy road as a child.

Before crossing any street, look left and  right to make sure no cars are coming, ok.

Ok, Big Abe.

Aight now. It’s your turn to lead me. Remember you have to apply this same lesson to everything, even life.

At four years old, I knew how to cross one of the busiest roads in Savannah, Georgia.

My Mellerdean always told me, you are destined to be great. When God chooses you, it doesn’t matter who rejects you because God will ensure you come out on top. You may go through a lot, but you will come out on top. Starting at a young age, she instilled valuable morals and principles to apply throughout life, even though I did trade them in briefly at some point. My Mellerdean is among the top three women in my life, with the first being my wife Rosalyn Johnson, the second my grandmother Thomasena Gusby, and My Mellerdean being the third. Unfortunately, my grandmother passed away when I was only 13 years old, at 54 years old. Growing up in Savannah, I frequently bounced around from My Mellerdean house to my grandmother’s house, where she lived with her husband Jesse, and seldomly my father Johnny Dollar Bill would pick me up.

Unlike My Mellerdean house, my grandmother’s house was filled with my siblings off Blue Jay Avenue. Most of my siblings were older, but a few were younger. There were at least twelve of us in her small three-bedroom house most times. To sleep at night, we often laid two to four blankets across the living room floor, where I slept. You were lucky to get a spot on the couch that ranked mostly of urine, but we slept well. My grandmother always ensured our stomachs were full before we went to sleep. Whatever time she had left in this world, she spent making sure we were loved dearly, but when we would mess up, she did not spare the rod. She would beat us the old fashioned way, hold out your hand, she would say. Depending on what you did, it could be worse than that. Go get my belt, she would say. When you heard this, you knew you were in trouble.

Grandma was not to be played with, and even after she disciplined you, she would always let you know what you did that was unacceptable, all while expressing her love for you, but she also stressed that it would be worse the next time if you did it again. At grandma’s house, all the grandkids had fun. Our fun mostly came from playing with each other or going outside to play with other kids. Most of the games we played consisted of wrestling, hide-go-seek, and flipping on old mattresses in the neighborhood. My grandmother’s house was infested with rats and roaches; occasionally, we’ll find a salamander or a cricket. Roaches in the cereal box were the norm for us, and often we had to pick them out of cereal before eating. I didn’t realize we had it rough back then because we always had each other. From time to time, snakes roamed the backyard. Each time we caught one, we would spray it with spray paint. To us, this was fun. We had no clue just how dangerous some snakes were, especially considering that a few of the larger snakes were eight to twelve feet long. If we had known, it probably would’ve been more exciting for us as I reflect on those moments. Luckily no one was ever hurt.

My father, Johnny Dollar Bill, was the ultimate stunner, a self-made millionaire and an imposing figure. To this day, he is one of my biggest inspirations. Most of my father’s life is a mystery to me. However, I’ve been told that we are the same in most ways. He always drove the latest Benz, Bentley, BMW, or Corvettes. You may have spotted him in a new Lincoln Continental on a low-key day. He was flashy, especially for a person his age. Sadly my father passed away on January 10, 2013, at 91 years old. I was born in 1991, and my father was born in 1921, when he passed away, I was 21 years old. When I was born, he was 70 years old, and my mother was born in 1970 making her 21 years old when she had me. I’ve always looked at numbers as having a special meaning, and numbers don’t lie. I was definitely meant to be here to serve a higher purpose for God. I’ve been told that for as long as I can remember. As I got older, this became easier to dissect when you take into account that I was born without sperm, as doctors and scientists later proved at a child support hearing in September 1996. According to them, my father couldn’t produce sperm due to the removal of his testicles to prevent the spread of prostate cancer throughout his body sometime before I was conceived.

However, the DNA returned 99.8% positive that I was his child at the child support hearing. Miracle it is. DNA proves that he is your son, the judge stated before giving the order of child support payment. My father held a grudge against my mother for a long time, maybe even until his death. He never forgot or forgave. He even had the nerve to accuse her of rigging the test.

How could you be my son? I can no longer have kids. She must have rigged the results. Maybe she knows somebody, but somehow you look just like me. This is crazy, in his high-pitched voice, he complained constantly. My father was 6’4, 280 lbs., and throughout his 80’s he looked big, strong, and at least thirty years younger than his actual age. If you ask me, he could’ve passed for forty-five at eighty-two.

Growing up, I saw very little of my father, but we did have our time together and spent even more time talking on the phone. The times we shared a few years before he passed accounts for some of the most memorable moments in my life. I loved every moment and cherished each second dearly. Speaking to or being around him always motivated me to believe I could be more significant than anyone thought.

My father was born on June 16, 1921, and was proud to say, I’ve never been without a dollar since I turned 10 years old. He learned how to manage money at an early age. He was also a mastermind of common sense. His most dominant characteristic was secrecy, but anyone that knows my father knows Johnny Dollar Bill lived like a king for over fifty years. 

Alexander never did what he said Cesare never said what he did.- Ancient Italian Proverb

My father built his empire in the ’50s and ’60s. Johnny Dollar Bill didn’t bother to waste time complaining about his status as a second-class citizen in America. Instead, he became the difference he wanted for himself in the world. I believe this is the biggest mistake made by successful black people in America and worldwide. Although my father and I share the same drive, our perception is different because our reception is different. Your reception comes from the inner you; that familiar voice rarely makes a wrong decision. The more you listen to it, the stronger you become. The more you suppress it, the deeper you involve yourself in mental, physical, and spiritual servitude. The main difference between my father and me is that we have different aspirations. I could never be satisfied with simply promoting myself and leading our people astray. More importantly, I’ll always speak for the ones that want to live in peace, harmony, and happiness but lack the knowledge, drive, and self-preservation to get there on their own. My father was the exact opposite; he was all for himself.

My father, along with his two older brothers Allen, and Lee Reed, laid the foundation for their economic empire in the ’50s and ’60s, but my father never spoke one word to anyone about his brothers. Lee Reed was a licensed realtor who owned over thirty residential and commercial properties around the United States. Allen, the oldest, passed away around 103 years old in North Carolina. In addition, my father owned and operated his own taxicab company, Diamond Back Cabs.

Charlie as a toddler

When I was six years old, my father exposed me to racism. In hindsight, he was trying to show me where he got his motivation.

Let me teach you a viable lesson, my father retorted as soon as I sat in his brand-new Bentley. We rode in silence The ride was until we got closer to the trailer parks.

You see, I drive by these trailer parks every day. So it’s a reminder, he stated after staring at me so deep in thought before speaking again. Let down the window. It’s your birthday, right?"

Yes.

"How old are you?

 Six.

Well, here’s your birthday present.

Rolling down the window as we sat at a red light, my father shouted to a middle-aged white man driving a monster truck with a huge confederate flag painted on the back window.

Aye, aye, white man, I know you hear me!

 Nigger what you want? The driver shouted back.

 As my father paused and smiled at him behind his big gold frame Cazel glasses, I could see anger in his eyes.

 You still think you better than me?

The question sent him into an outrage. Nigger I don’t care how much property you acquire or how successful you become. I’m always going to be better than you because I’ma white man, and y’all will always be some no good niggers like the rest!

His eyes were completely red, as the veins in his neck bulged from yelling at the top of his lungs.  His eyes kept shifting between my father and me.

 Ok, thank you, that’s enough! He said to the man.

Roll the window up, my father said to me.

Once the window was closed, the light turned green, but before he drove off, he looked at me as I sat in confusion me and said, Happy Birthday!

 No matter what they say, never forget that these white folks will always think they’re better than you. He spoke, breaking the silence between us as we went to the waffle house.

Still, in a state of confusion, I stared out the window, trying to register what had just happened. My father just glanced at me before speaking. Look me in my eyes when I speak to you. Let it motivate you. Prove them wrong.

How? I asked while staring into his eyes.

By believing in yourself. No matter what anybody else thinks. Believe in everything that you do. Prove them wrong, by every means possible.

So, never believe that I can be stopped? I asked.

Wrong. Know that you can be stopped but believe that you have the power to overcome anything! You can always find a way around whoever or whatever is trying to stop you.

 What if it doesn’t turn out that way and there’s no way around it?

 Run it over!

My mindset derived from his theory for most of my life, but until I came to prison, I misapplied it. His lesson was equivalent to gifting a child a gold necklace. I didn’t understand the value, so I couldn’t appreciate it; he didn’t exactly try to ensure I did. Although he planted the seed, he did not take care of it, and everyone knows to plant a seed isn’t good enough. You must water it and ensure it gets the right amount of sunlight and pesticide for bugs when necessary. You must water it and ensure it gets the right amount of sunlight and pesticide for bugs when necessary. My personal goal with this book is to give you all of that in one so you not only learn but also appreciate the things that I was unable to enjoy so you, too, can acknowledge, and understand that we have the power to overcome anything.

When spending the night at my father’s house, I slept in a guest room with two king-sized beds. One was a custom-made designer bed with silk sheets and a leather blanket, and the other was a waterbed, which I preferred.  It was unlike anything I had ever seen or experienced. I remember joyfully playing with the nozzles to adjust the temperature and the other effects of the bed. I especially loved the way it bubbled underneath the surface when adjusted and gave you the feeling of floating on top of the ocean.

Another great perk of staying at my father’s house was that we were guaranteed to go to the waffle house every morning. The servers always knew what my father wanted, and sometimes his order was put in as soon as we pulled up, other times as we walked through the door, but never after we sat down. It was like a competition to see who would bring his food first. After bringing his order, the waiter would politely ask me with exuberant concern.

 Now, young prince, what would you like to eat for breakfast or Johnny is this your son? He is so handsome. Other times it would be, young king, what would you like for breakfast? Even in my young eyes, I realized they sometimes went overboard, but they made me feel special. I studied my father’s mannerisms as we ate. More importantly, I paid even closer attention to how people communicated and interacted with him. Not once did I see him lash out or lose his cool. My pop’s thoughts echo’ in my head, and if I let go, I’m dead, I dare not give anyone control over my mind and neither should you."

My father’s living room’s ceiling was decorated with a gold chandelier. He had a deep affection for gold that he passed on to me. He had three slot machines filled with gold coins in his living room. I have been collecting these coins since the ’50s, he informed me. I played on the machines regularly. Whenever I hit the jackpot, I felt rich again while holding the gold coins in my hand. That feeling constantly changed when my father forced me to exchange the gold coins for dollar bills from his pockets; either way, I appreciated the money.

My father’s favorite game was pool. One time I watched him bet a $10,000 shot. The pot was over $150,000 in cash. It was a hell of a sight for a six-year-old. Even then, I told myself, I’m going to be rich one day. I’m going to be rich as I can be.

My mama told me that when I was a toddler, maybe three years old, my father and her were lying in bed asleep when I somehow turned the doorknob that was supposedly out of my reach because I was too small. So, I climbed into the bed unnoticed until I was shaking her to wake her up.

Ma, ma, wake up.

What, baby?

Guess what, mommy, I’m going to be a millionaire.

It is written in the stars. According to my mother, I was super excited, as if I possessed a knowledge no one else knew about. I believe you, baby, but it is one in the morning, which means it’s time to sleep. Lay right here, and don’t move. Its night-night time ok.

Ok.

I don’t remember this day, but I do know I’ve always believed in obtaining wealth. But, of course, this was amplified every time I was near my father.

Grandma, grandma!

What’s up, Charlie?

 One day I’m gonna own a big company, take care of many people, and guess what grandma? I asked with a smile so big you could see all of my missing teeth.

What baby?

 I’m gonna buy you a big ole house.

That’s a mansion baby.

No, a big ole house grandma…a big ole house with long hallways grandma. You don’t ever have to work again because I’m going to take good care of you. I said looking into her eyes as she sat on the couch.

Every time I encountered my grandmother, I told her this. Finally, it reached the point that she could finish my statements for me, and she always did so with a smile. Seeing her smile really made me happy.

Grandma, grandma!

I know, baby, you gonna own a big company.

Yea, grandma, and we’ll say it at simultaneously.

I’m gonna buy you a big ole house.

She’ll laugh, and I’ll continue, and you ain’t never gon’ work again because I’m going to take good care of you."

I believe you, baby, and I can’t wait for that day. 

I would put my hand on her big belly and rub it like a genie in a bottle, saying, me too, grandma, me too.

 She’ll hug me tight and say, I love you, Charlie. Grandma will always love you. I was seven at that time; she passed six years later.

Back at my godmother’s house, My Mellerdean youngest son, Michael was at least five years older than me, but we were like glue during my childhood years. He even visited us when we later moved to Jacksonville. I still refer to him as my god-brother along with his two older brothers Lil Abe and Jabar.  My god niece Ebony was the closest to me in age. She was just one year younger, and around a lot. Ebony’s mother’s name was Latrell, and technically she was my god sister. I’m sure she loved me, but we never had a close relationship because I saw less of her than everybody else, nevertheless, I love Trell. Her two daughters, Ebony & Ariel were more of sisters to me than Trell due to the age gap between us. These were the members of my extended family including a few people like Jerome, My Mellerdean brother, his two sons Devon and Charles (God bless the dead) plus My Mellerdean mother Mrs. Perry. Many other people visited the house, but I cannot remember their names right now, and I’m guessing they probably don’t remember mine. We were tight back then; sadly, we all grew apart over time.

I can never forget the love my godmother showered me with. She loved me so much that she even allowed me to sleep on her side of the bed, knowing I had bladder issues, that sometimes caused me to pee the bed. When it did happen, she never cursed at me or showed me any anger. Instead, She’ll just wash everything in the morning, and make sure I cleaned myself up right away while she cooked our breakfast. Whenever I came knocking on her door late at night, mostly because I didn’t want to sleep in the room by myself, she still opened her room door. Heart overflowing with love, she’ll say, Charlie promise you will try harder to wake up this time?

I promise.

 Just like that, I was back in her bed, back in her arms, until we both fell asleep.

In the summer of ’98, when my brothers and I moved to Jacksonville, my life would change forever. My godmother and grandmother’s love was replaced with torture and outright psychological abuse to the tenth power from my mother.

Charlie and Mellerdean Robinson

Chapter 2

Hurt People Hurt People

I didn’t see her standing there. I had just closed the door to the new two-story house we had just moved into two months before with my mother and her husband, Big Charlie (Jonathan’s father). I was coming home from school in the second grade when she asked me, Where is the Gameboy I bought you for your birthday?

It’s in my room.

My brother Jay and I shared a room. Mel had his room next to ours. My momma and Big Charlie’s room occupied the entire upstairs, which was huge, with a balcony out back overlooking the backyard.

Jonathan, have you seen my Gameboy? I asked while flipping through everything in my room , gradually becoming frustrated.

No.

Once I realized it wasn’t where I put it last, and I couldn’t find it anywhere, my heart rate increased times twenty. I just felt something terrible would happen to me for something I did not do. Eventually, I got tired of looking and just gave up, although I knew I had left it on top of the T.V. in our room, so I went back to my mother to let her know I couldn’t find it where she was still standing at the same spot in the front room.

Where is it? She asked with her hands behind her back. She had so much anger in her that you could see it in her eyes, and I was confused as to why. Before her, I had never seen that look in an adult’s eyes. Instantly at seven years old, I was scared.

I don’t know. The last place I put it was on top of the T.V in my room.

She went crazy, and shouting to the top of her lungs full of anger. Why you lying in my face…huh? Why is your no-good ass lying in my face?

 I had no clue what to do. I wanted to run, but my legs were paralyzed in fear, as if  I had cement blocks on my feet.

Now I’m gon’ ask your ungrateful ass one more time where did you put it at or who you gave it to?

 I didn’t.

My reflexes weren’t fast enough. She swung the belt from behind her back so quickly that it wrapped around my neck, and before I knew it, she was yanking me down to the floor. Then, hysterically shouting, "take off everything I bought your ass…get naked right now! Scared to death, while curled up on the carpet floor, I began to take off my shirt, but once it was over my head, she started to beat me with the belt. I cried out loud more because of my innocence than her harsh treatment.

My loud cries weren’t good enough to save me. She bent over, yanked the shirt off my head, and beat me in my face. I tried to cover my face, screaming, I ain’t do nothing!

You lying bitch, yes you did!

Suddenly there was a sharp change in the beating.  I started to feel excruciating pain. With every blow, I was convinced this wasn’t the same big thick four-inch leather belt anymore. Then, peeking from my elbows while still in the fetal position, I saw my mother hitting me with a thick metal belt buckle. My face was covered in blood dripping into my eyes, which made me scream even louder. I cried and cried. I just couldn’t understand why. I just wanted to wipe the burning sensation from my eyes, but I didn’t want to chance her breaking a bone in my face, so I balled up tighter praying for it to stop, seconds later, she did, but it felt like hours.

Gasping for breath she yelled, Look at me. I stayed balled up. I said look at me before I bust your head again, she repeated. I looked with blood in my eyes, scared and confused. She held the Gameboy up in her hand, Rufus gave me this today. He told me you gave it to him yesterday. That was a lie confirmed later that day when my oldest brother Mel confessed that he gave his friend Rufus the Gameboy when we went crabbing the day before. Notably, she did nothing to him, showing yet again a pattern of favoritism. That can scar the mind of any child. Jay and I have experienced it our whole life, even up to this day. However, during those early years of our lives, that it meant the most. Now we’re just numb to it.

You can’t accept an apology that was never given.-Pharaoh Future 

There was no need to argue with her. Since you want to continue to lie. I’m not giving anything back to you. Your sorry ass don’t deserve shit anyways! Blood dripped profusely from the back of my head. Eventually, I was covered in it. Get up & get out my motherfucking face! Go get in the tub and clean yourself. When you’re done, I’m gon’ put a bandage on your head. You got what you deserved, so you better not tell nobody at school tomorrow, or I’ll bust your head to the white meat again. In fear, I stayed balled up on the blood-soaked carpet as she continued to speak. I said get out my motherfucking face!

I then jumped up and ran to my room. Muffling my tears. I came through the door to see my brother Jay eyes still glued to the T.V screen. His first words were, stop all that crying!

But I ain’t do nothing! I sobbed louder.

When he finally looked at me, I saw in his eyes he was in a state of shock. My body resembled a red paintbrush. Oh Damn, was all he could say after looking me up and down. For the first time ever, we cried together.

Afterward, I bathed in a tub filled with my own blood. A memory, that is never too far from my mind till this very day.

At the age of 7, I bathed in my own blood.-Pharaoh Future

Chapter 3

Palmdale

I grew up in a neighborhood known as Palmdale. It wasn’t the worst neighborhood in Jacksonville, but many killers and drug dealers lived around my way.  My peers were known shooters on every other street.

Above all, ignorance flooded the streets of Jacksonville. A place resident called The Bang’em where they Hang’em. Sadly we all quoted this slogan with pride. Now I know, the motto references how black people were lynched before and after the emancipation proclamation in 1865. Nowadays, it is more associated with the way we are ‘Banged & Hanged’ in the courtroom by these new Jim Crow laws implemented in every American city where the black population is above average. In Jacksonville, the good ole racist boys got the court system designed much worse than you can imagine. Enhanced charges are pushed to the limit, and getting over sentenced is the rule, not the exception.  10-20-life, habitual offender, and career criminal, are some of the names used to take your life. These pretty-sounding words were created to cover up evil deeds in order to disguise a grander scheme to control the black population by distorting our families and our existence. No other place in the state of Florida hangs its citizens in the courtroom the way Jacksonville does, where a grain of sand is more valuable than a black life, but this is the place we are taught to represent.

Don’t represent nothing if it doesn’t represent you.-Pharaoh Future

Palmdale had good & bad experiences for me. From age seven to twelve, I lived there except the few times when I went back to Savannah for extended visits. In Palmdale, I gained a lot of friends and associates. Very few are worth mentioning. Amongst those are Amp & Dominique Norris and the Bigham’s which consisted of a large-sized family who was well-known. Most people believe we all are one big family, and for the longest time blood couldn’t make us any closer. There was also Ray, Isaiah, Donte, Mike, Ronnie, and the entire neighborhood big brother Big Baby. There were a few female friends, too, like Brittany, Ciara, Latasha, Jackie, Boo and I still love Briana Davis. For the most part, these were the people I looked forward to seeing every day, especially Amp, Dominique, and the Bigham’s. Collectively we did all the things kids do together like playing basketball, football, going