My name is Sean Woodward. I’m 59 years old, turning 60 this August. And this is my story about going from the darkest place I’ve ever been to the brightest future I’ve ever seen.”
I was born in Austin, Texas, but grew up in San José. Sports were my sanctuary—the one place I knew what was expected of me. But off the field, I didn’t really know anything. At 13, I ended up in juvenile hall for being present when a friend stole a Rubik’s Cube. My mother visited once and told me I embarrassed her and wouldn’t get another visit. That changed everything for me.
“My mother visited once and told me I embarrassed her and wouldn’t get another visit. That changed everything for me.”
After high school, I started partying and needed money. Me and a couple of buddies started burglarizing houses. VCRs were the big thing—I’d steal one and sell it for a hundred dollars. No questions asked. I got arrested, did time, got out, and started again. That pattern repeated: burglaries, then robbing my dad’s house when a drug deal went bad. I got 13 years in state prison.
When I got out, I tried to transfer my parole to Texas to be closer to family. California denied it because I owed $100 in restitution. One hundred dollars kept me from changing my life path. At that point, I just said, “Okay, well back to my old life.”
That’s when I started robbing banks. I learned by trial and error, got good at it. May 6th, 1999—the day after Cinco de Mayo—I walked into a bank and robbed it. All hell broke loose: police cars, choppers, dogs. They sentenced me to 90 to life under Three Strikes. I was 32.
I spent 26 years in prison—San Quentin, Pelican Bay, High Desert. For 26 years, you put on a “don’t mess with me” persona. You cut emotions off. You can’t have them in there. The reality is it’s a violent place. You don’t have friends in prison.
Then one day, I got a text from my lawyer. It’s all happening. I am getting out. Those emotions came back all at once—it’s like a flood of emotions. So I pulled the curtain and I literally cried into my towel for at least a good half hour. It was a good cry.
“So I pulled the curtain and I literally cried into my towel for at least a good half hour. It was a good cry.”
On August 12, 2023, I walked out of Folsom State Prison. You just don’t believe it’s happening even though it is.
I stumbled on Santa Maria through GA. I came here for three required days and enjoyed it—the camaraderie, the laughing. Fernando’s a big old nut. The people here are really good. You got to surround yourself around good people. They say the family that chooses you is always better than the family you’re given.
Now I’m in truck driving school, living my dream. I want to do long haul trucking, eventually own four trucks, buy some land with horses and dogs. There’s just no want or no need to become that guy again.
“There’s just no want or no need to become that guy again.”
I just wanted that second chance. Even if I don’t have nothing, I still got my freedom. That’s a great thing. It’s not something I’m gonna give up ever again.