The chattel in our prisons

My grocery store, one of a chain, has an excellent policy of hiring people with slight physical or mental disabilities for menial tasks such as putting carts away or carrying customers’ shopping bags to their cars. I had noticed several times a little guy in his forties, visibly impaired in some way but a delight to interact with because of his big grin, his eagerness to rush forward and help and his thanks as profuse for a small tip as if he’d just won the lottery. Then one day the Metro section of the paper ran the story and I recognized him from the photo. This guy had recently been released from jail where he had spent half his life for a crime he hadn’t committed. The son of a single mother, he was finally exonerated, maybe through DNA testing or the coming forward of a new witness. The little man, planning a celebration with his mother, was so ecstatic at his newfound freedom that he didn’t even think about his lost years or possible compensation.