Rebooted

Malcolm Johnson hugs family members after graduation from the Cook County Sheriff's Boot Camp, where he spent four months. (Matt Marton/SouthtownStar)

Back before jailhouse stabbings and pat-downs and 5:30 a.m. pushups, Malcolm Johnson was a chubby-cheeked introvert into computers and good grades.

His behavior and ambition earned him a spot as a Country Club Hills police cadet.

At Hillcrest High School, he was a mostly A and B student, transcripts show.

In 2006, he was named an Illinois State Scholar and was later accepted into the University of Illinois-Chicago.

He wanted to be a surgeon. Maybe a pharmacist.

But one afternoon last April upended Johnson’s promising path, and sent him to jail for a crime he says he didn’t commit.

Retelling his story from a quiet room at the Cook County Boot Camp, Johnson, 21, said it started with a visit from a cousin and a decision he can’t take back.

Choice precedes arrest

Malcolm’s mother, Tabatha Johnson, took in her nephew, Ryan Cochran, because he’s family and because that’s what families are supposed to do.

Relatives say Cochran had been thrown out of his Lynwood home after he was caught forging checks.

For Tabatha, the trade-off was help with the rent and a baby sitter for her youngest son, Xavier, while she worked a night shift as a nurse and Malcolm was busy with his overnight truck-washing job in South Holland.

But instead of baby-sitting, Cochran, 19, was out holding up hotels and motels.

Police reports and surveillance tapes reveal his M.O. : diamond-patterned hooded jacket, gun, cash, quick exit.

Most were committed in the late evening or overnight.

April 25 was different.

That day started with Malcolm Johnson and Cochran springing Cochran’s car from an impound lot, a stop for fast food followed by haircuts and then to an ATM to get cash for Johnson’s part of his mother’s cable bill.

Along the way, Cochran called his coworker at an Oak Forest Jiffy Lube, 20-year-old Hector Marquez.

The trio met back at Johnson’s house in Markham.

Cochran changed into his diamond-patterned jacket.

Johnson knew what was about to happen.

He could have left.

He could have opted out of the car right then and there, or skipped the planned visit to his girlfriend’s house altogether.

But he stayed in the car – the worst mistake of his life, Johnson said.

Despite appeals from Johnson, Marquez drove all three to a Comfort Suites in Lansing, where authorities say Cochran walked into the lobby, aimed a .38-caliber handgun at two clerks and walked away with a handful of cash.

Marquez and Johnson, meanwhile, stayed in the car, eventually leaving Cochran inside the hotel and driving away.

Johnson says he told Marquez to keep driving.

But Marquez turned around and picked up Cochran, who was waiting in a nearby neighborhood.

They didn’t get far before Marquez’s red Volkswagen Jetta was surrounded by police, who found cash and the .38-caliber handgun underneath a car seat.

And during questioning from Lansing detectives, Cochran implicated Johnson in 12 other south suburban armed robberies.

It was enough to charge Johnson with 11 of the armed robberies and one attempted armed robbery. Together, Cochran and Marquez were charged with 13 armed robberies and three attempted armed robberies.

Their bonds were set at $1 million a piece.

Johnson was stunned.

The April 25 robbery notwithstanding, he claims he wasn’t present for any of the crimes.

“(Ryan) wanted me to go down with him,” Johnson said. “He didn’t want to be alone because he knew what was going to happen.”

Johnson wanted to go to trial, but he would have to fight each count in separate hearings.

That could have taken up to three years – too long to sit in the county lockup, he thought.

And, of course, he might not win.

Johnson’s family hired an attorney, but they quickly ran out of the money required to mount a lengthy legal fight.

Despite his family’s wishes – and his gut feeling – Johnson pleaded guilty to a charge of felony attempted armed robbery.

Hard time

Awaiting his hearing, Johnson sat in jail, scared and stressing out.

He witnessed a bloody jailhouse stabbing in front of his cell and slowly sank into a depression.

Then he started to get too comfortable.

“That really bothered me,” he said. “I’ve been in here so long that (inmates) are happy to see me.”

Soon after, he requested to be moved to protective custody.

As part of his plea deal, brokered by his public defender while Johnson was in jail, he was sent to the Cook County Sheriff’s Boot Camp, where he joined nearly 50 other young men in court-ordered discipline.

After spending a year in jail, he entered the program a little overweight and with a chip on his shoulder.

‘Lost soul’ transformed

In the 12 years since the boot camp opened, more than 4,800 felons, from 17 to 35 years old, have graduated.

Johnson’s overwhelmingly black Bravo Company was subject to regimented days: 5:30 a.m. wake-up call, exercise, chow, drill practice, boot-shining, limited free time, lights out.

When they misbehaved, they got “smoked” – ordered to perform rigorous physical tests, including 12-mile runs and thousands of push-ups, in the heat and rain.

When they succeeded as a group, they earned ribbons and stole bragging rights from the other platoons at the boot camp.

That was the routine for about four months.

Throughout the program, boot camp officials said Johnson set him self apart from the rest of his squad, which dwindled to 43 people after several dropped out.

Eventually, he was elected “platoon representative,” like a valedictorian for a class of felons.

At their platoon graduation Aug. 20, he told the crowd they were “witnessing the transformation of 43 lost souls.”

Excuses fade away

One year and three months after his arrest, he still can’t believe how much his life has changed.

One week removed from the camp, he still can’t shake the habit of answering questions with “sir, yes sir.”

With hard time in hindsight, Johnson said the plea deal that sent him to boot camp actually changed his life for the better.

It’s a place that makes excuses fade away, he says.

He used to blame Cochran. Now, he only blames himself for getting mixed up with him.

He’s already sold his lime green Chrysler 300M because he fears the loud color and big rims give the wrong impression. He’s even scared to ride in his mom’s car, afraid they’ll get pulled over for tinted windows.

He wants to return to school, and is considering a career as an attorney- a long shot given his felony conviction.

Maybe he’ll stay involved in car repairs and open his own custom shop.

For now, he’ll have a monitoring device tied to his ankle during a month-long house arrest, which will be followed by eight months of probation.

After that, his choices will once again be his to make.

So will his mistakes.