Saying Goodbye to Gerald: The Meaning Behind Just Income’s Mascot

In 2022, Community Spring launched Just Income, a guaranteed income program for people coming home from prison. At that time, we made a Sandhill Crane logo for the program and named it Gerald. Here’s why. This is Gerald’s story.

As we build a more cohesive brand at Community Spring, it’s time to retire separate program logos. But while we are saying goodbye to Gerald in image, the work continues. I just couldn’t bid farewell without honoring Gerald, who meant so much to me during my time in prison. 

Some Things Are Too Painful To Name Outright, So We Find Other Ways

When I was in prison, I called every bird Gerald. Morning, Gerald. Check out those Geralds. It somehow caught on. Other prisoners started using it. What started as a half-joke became something more—something quieter, more necessary. 

Birds were one vast, beautiful thing. Countless manifestations of a singular something. Waves in an airborne ocean. We could’ve called them Hope, Freedom, or Joy, but those words hurt too much to say out loud. Gerald was easier. A shared language. It gave us a way to name the birds—and the truest, most tender places within us—without breaking our own hearts.

Our connection with the birds was more than observation; it was recognition. They were symbols of rising above the grim realities of prison life. They reminded us that life still existed beyond the cage—and, more importantly, that life was still happening here, too. We were confined, but the birds dared us to remember that the most essential parts of ourselves still flew freely. Greeting Gerald felt like touching something real: an old friend, a teacher, a secret. The best pieces of our fractured selves.

Sandhill Cranes grew so used to us that they ate from our hands. My arm reaching through bars to feed a waiting crane is etched into my memory. Even in a place of infamous scarcity, giving up a bit of food for those moments felt like a bargain. Their eyes were unflinching and bottomless. They captivated us with their elaborate dances. They lumbered into impossibly graceful flight. Even when we couldn’t see them, they announced themselves—trumpets from an invisible world.

Carefully collected feathers were tucked into letters to my loved ones—silent reassurances that whispered to them, and to myself: I’m still here, holding on…

Being kind to animals was easier than showing kindness to people. It was safer. Animals gave us a refuge from judgment, a place where love and gentleness could flow without suspicion or risk. In a cruel place, they kept our humanity intact.

While meditating on The Yard one morning, my gaze settled on the woods beyond the fence. The cold had kept most prisoners inside, leaving me mostly alone under the watchful eyes of the gun tower. The silence was thick, absolute. Until it wasn’t. The nearest tree erupted with birds, an explosion of wings and sound that stole my breath. Tears poured, a mix of awe and relief. The birds were proof: all was not lost. I was still alive. Still whole. Wonder had not vanished.

The birds were mirrors, unwavering and revealing. Grackles, hawks, kites, and cardinals reflected our inner journeys. Wits, adaptability, poise, stoicism, efficiency, grace, levity, and perseverance—all qualities we needed to survive in there. They highlighted our strengths and exposed the places that trembled.

All of them—every single Gerald—helped lift me from the eager jaws of despair.

Just Income: A Bird Appearing in Someone’s Life

For former prisoners, even after coming home, the ripples of the cage linger. People who’ve been incarcerated face tremendous hurdles, visible and invisible. While carrying the trauma of incarceration, despite limited opportunities, you're expected to produce an extraordinary amount of stability and money, as if by magic. If you can’t, they’ll send you back to a cage. Words fail to capture that terror. Freedom isn’t free after all.

That’s where Community Spring’s Just Income program comes in. It’s not just about money—it’s about easing the weight that crushes so many after release. Unconditional income offers a moment to breathe, bringing hope, freedom, and joy—a bird appearing in someone’s life when they need it most. 

Just as the birds reminded us in prison that life existed beyond the walls, Just Income gives people coming home something to hold onto. It’s a breath of relief when survival feels impossible. It’s the ability to eat, to pay rent, to help a child with school supplies, to cover an emergency expense that might otherwise spiral into catastrophe. It’s a foundation, a landing place—something so many people never get.

Through Just Income, Community Spring has supported 157 formerly incarcerated people with temporary no-strings-attached monthly payments. The impact has been undeniable:

• Recidivism has fallen.

• Public resources have been saved.

• Economic resilience has grown.

• Food insecurity has dropped.

• Mental health has improved.

• Families have strengthened.

• Employment opportunities have expanded.

Gerald—the birds, the symbol, the belief that something better was possible—helped keep me from sinking when I was inside. And Just Income, in its way, is Gerald too: a quiet, powerful reminder that another way is possible.

My mother’s ashes went into a lake. A bird drinks from it and flies away, maybe off to visit a prison. Everything is everywhere. 

From anyone who’s felt the uncommon gravity of life in a cage: Thank you, Gerald. And goodbye.