Tracy Lee Kendall describes how one of the founders of the original white supremacists in Texas prisons, the Aryan Circle gang, transformed his life and started helping gang members quit the gang.

On February 3, 1959, Monty Lee Johnston was born in Blossom, Texas, about 10 miles east of Paris, Texas. His father was a successful contractor and investor who ended up with a cattle ranch, so Monty grew up in a small town dream. Until one day, Monty shot drugs through a needle into his arm and his perfect life and high school sweetheart disappeared, only to be replaced by a forever-changed life that soon led to prison.

By 1977, Monty was in the Texas Department of Corrections [TDCJ] and was called “Iceman” and was being transferred on a chain bus from the Ferguson Unit to the Coffield Unit. Soon after arriving, Iceman met “Cowboy” (birth name withheld for a variety of reasons) in a complex social dynamic. The power of “building tenders” (BTs: inmates utilized by prison administration to impose the rules and violent punishment upon other inmates) and turnkeys (TKs: inmates designated by prison administration to possess keys and open doors) was beginning to wane. This was because certain prisoners were beginning to rise up after the BTs and TKs had beat, raped, and murdered their way through the prison population for too long.

A major force of violent resistance to BTs and TKs was what became the Texas Syndicate (often considered the first prison gang from Texas, but some trace its roots to the free world). Combined with other groups and various lawsuits, BTs and TKs ceased to be utilized by the TDC, leaving a power vacuum. This brought competition between prison gangs from places like California (e.g., Mexican Mafia, Aryan Brotherhood) and those from Texas. Predominantly, these gangs were violent, racially separatist criminal organizations. For those who were intelligent, ruthless, and violent enough to form and maintain coherent groups, these earlier times were fertile soil for new prison gangs.

Iceman and Cowboy capitalized on this by envisioning the “Aryan Circle” (possibly the first white prison gang originating in Texas), formulating their bylaws and constitution, and hitting the halls of Coffield to recruit members.

From 1979-1983, there were not over 15 actual Aryan Circle members [ACs] although many others were claiming to be, mainly because it was so hard to get shipped away from Coffield. Eventually, the Aryan Circle members began getting shipped to other prison units around Texas. This brought new opportunities to prospect and recruit new members. From 1984-85, the Aryan Circle easily grew to within a thousand, including a free world chapter of men and women.

In Monty’s words, Iceman was “Balls-to-the-Wall,” so much so that a Gang Intelligence sergeant saw to it that Iceman was charged with aggravated assault, attempted murder, and murder due to various letters he sent out to other ACs (inmates could send letters to each other in those days, but not anymore). By 1998, Iceman was understandably put in administrative segregation [seg], now called, “restrictive housing.” Shortly thereafter, I met Iceman in seg where I worked as a janitor in 1999 or 2000, and later delivering face towels and sheets.

On March 3, 2005, a prison chaplain came to tell Iceman that his father died. Devastated, he reflected upon all the good his father did for him — from the sincere love, to the ranch paradise, even a brand new Trans Am. Iceman compared it to the 70 or 80 letters he sent out to control the by then tens of thousands of ACs in the U.S., England, and France.

Then he asked himself, “Monty, you’re sending all these letters out to people you don’t even know, pushing this hate on them, controlling everything, and what for? And when’s the last time you wrote your father and told him you loved him?” His answer to the first question was, “For nothing;” and the second, “7 or 8 years earlier while talking about something that actually mattered.”

And Monty broke down crying, unable to take any more of the hell he’d created for himself and thousands of others. So he wrote the same sergeant who had worked to see charges pressed on him 7 years earlier, to tell him that he was done and wanted to go through GRAD (a gang renunciation program in the TDCJ).

By 2006, Monty was on a chain bus to the Ramsey Unit to do just that. After being interviewed by prison administrators who questioned Monty’s sincerity (and whether they could even handle him) he went on to successfully complete GRAD.

In 2007, Monty was released. He soon found himself at a family gathering of around 60 or 70 people. While there, his son Chad, who had been his biggest supporter during his incarceration, asked to speak to him alone outside. Once outside, Chad asked that he throw his (Chad’s) address and phone number in the trash and leave, because he couldn’t trust him not to go back to prison after choosing it for so long over his family. Monty asked if it was really what he wanted because it was all he had to give. The last thing Chad told his father before walking away was, “My God, I’d hate to be you.”

After that, all Monty wanted to do was escape the world and the pain he’d made for himself therein. So he moved to Euless, TX where he lived as a hermit for years. Although his neighbors and postal workers would wave and speak to him, Monty never did so back. He simply never wanted anyone to know him after being who he was earlier in life. Monty had checked out of the world.

In 2012, a district attorney, his wife, and the DA who replaced him were murdered in Kauffman County. During a television interview, a Justice of the Peace named Eric Williams blamed the murders on a conspiracy perpetuated by the Aryan Circle and Aryan Brotherhood prison gangs in retaliation for prosecutions of their members.

Soon afterward, Monty, Cowboy, and a leader of the Aryan Brotherhood were arrested as suspects.

But then, ironically, a kid burglarizing a warehouse came upon a car, popped the trunk, and found documents inside that disturbed him so much that he called the police to report them immediately.

It turned out that the car belonged to Eric Williams, and what he found was shocking. The burglar had found intelligence gathered by Williams as he stalked his victims prior to their murders!  Basically, he and his wife engaged in a murder conspiracy after the first DA (eventually murdered) had discovered that Williams was embezzling money. Given the choice to resign or face prosecution, Williams opted to engage in a murder conspiracy instead.

So Monty, Cowboy, and the AB leader were released. Unfortunately, Monty took 3 blocks to stop his car for police one day and was charged with evading arrest. This led to his conviction, and Monty returned to prison with a short sentence on July 22, 2021. While unhappy about returning to prison, Monty made a conscious decision to do something which has the potential to save far more lives than he previously destroyed.

On February 26, 2023, an older white-haired prisoner who remembered me from Coffield walked into my cell and asked me to help him more effectively counsel the (mostly younger) gang members who come to him wanting to renounce their gang memberships. He has an AC patch (tattoo designating gang membership) so old that it’s a square swastika with a capital “AC” in a circle at the cross (the new ones are like a circular swastika). After he shared a little of his story (which is far more than this), I asked him for an interview, which became this article.

The obstacles he faced are common for those such as him. Other prisoners in key positions often don’t help unless they can control, capitalize on, or take credit for. Since I’ve lived nearly half my life in prisons around this area, it didn’t take me long to figure out what staff may be willing to give Monty a chance to increase his efforts to save lives and futures, and make the world he used to destroy a better place.

We’ll see how it all works out. The important thing is that manipulators in here are not allowed to interfere, and that Monty is given the access to counsel these guys alone, away from others who those seeking Monty’s advice will not speak around. This is because Monty was a respected founder, leader, and sincere denunciator of one of the most dangerous gangs in the U.S., and is respected and trusted by current members. Any outsiders or prison hustlers involved would not only be counterproductive, it could be the catalyst of more death and destruction if those seeking counsel are put off by prison games or rhetoric.

Both established and younger gang members often call him a “living legend.” Monty despises that, and usually responds that he’s just an old country boy who made choices that changed and took lives. Now he lives to make lives better.

Monty doesn’t hate anymore – he doesn’t even cuss (even upon getting bones broken and parts of his fingers cut off). And the swastika that gangs like the AC adopted from the same who murdered a number of my ancestors in their NAZI concentration camps? For Monty, it’s part of his testimony now. His testimony that no matter how far one descends, or what one builds themselves or others into, they can choose to do something better, even amazing, to make the world a better place.

What do I think of this? Two of my great aunts were burned by people wearing the same sign on Monty’s side. The third escaped and became an active communist to refute the NAZIs. The only great aunt I’ve met, and know the name of (Olga) survived because a NAZI colonel fell in love with and married her, risking torture and death to hide her throughout WWII. Later, they brought 2 children into the world.

At this time, the world needs people like Monty in its circle. Can much be done from in here? Monty started a worldwide circle of death from the prison I lived the majority of my time in and he has the potential for a worldwide circle of life as well.

Tracy Lee Kendall

The post Monty Lee Johnston: The Founder of Texas’ Aryan Circle Gang Turns Himself Around first appeared on Prison Writers.