Mitchell: After long incarceration, ex-con wants to help mothers in prison

In 2002, Nicole “Coco” Davis was convicted on two counts of conspiracy to distribute cocaine.

The married mother of three was sentenced to 22 years in the federal penitentiary even though no drugs were delivered, and no cash changed hands.

A supplier, who was looking to cut a deal with the feds, set Davis up in a telephone call after he was caught driving a truckload of cocaine.

Because of harsh sentencing guidelines, drug offenders like Davis were getting sentences that were, in some cases, longer than the time handed down to convicted murderers and rapists.

But Davis, 46, who grew up on the West Side, was more fortunate than most people in her predicament.

A close friend proved to be a tireless advocate. Tammy Mills filed a series of court challenges, and Davis’ sentence was eventually cut by eight years.

Davis returned home last year on a mission to help other incarcerated mothers.

Last weekend, she launched the Talk to Me Foundation to help children stay in contact with parents, especially those who are facing decades behind bars.

“There are women who haven’t heard from their kids in years,” Davis told me.

“I think about my own kids and I didn’t want them to ever feel like they didn’t have anyone to talk to about their issues. I didn’t want them to turn to the streets and men like a lot of girls do, or to gangs and drugs like boys do. If I can stop one child from going in that direction, it will be a blessing,” she said.

During Davis’ long incarceration, it was Mills who would make the trek by car to prisons — first to Danbury, Connecticut, then to downstate Pekin and finally to Waseca, Minnesota, to bring Davis’ children for a visit.

“If kids contact us and we find out where the parents are incarcerated, we can help guide them. If they need to use the computer to send emails, we can take them to the library. If we have to get a bus to take them for a visit, then we are going to do that,” Mills said.

“There are so many people in prison who haven’t seen family members not even once since they got locked up,” she added.

When Mills discovered that an inmate in the facility where Davis was incarcerated hadn’t seen her children in 10 years, she contacted the inmate’s family in Michigan and offered to pick them up.

“They promised me they would come and they did. It was thanksgiving. Everybody cried,” she said.

Davis’ transition from prison to home hasn’t been easy. A month after getting back, she discovered that her house was in foreclosure, and her bank accounts were drained. Worse yet, as yet no one has been willing to give her a job.

But thanks to family and friends, she was able to raise the funds needed to keep a roof over her head.

Rather than wallow in despair, Davis has kept busy. She already has completed a book and a stage play that she started writing in prison.

Her advice to other ex-convicts is to not look back.

“You’ve got to move forward. Every individual has to find it within to continue to do right even though we are constantly being shut out because of our backgrounds,” she said.

“It’s been a long journey. But I know as I sit here today, prison is a place that I don’t want to return to under any circumstances.”

The late Justice R. Eugene Pincham represented Davis during her drug conspiracy trial. He once told me that Davis was strong enough to survive despite the unfairness of her sentence.

He was right.