From behind bars to training Meek Mill and Seth Williams

Returning to your old school can conjure long-forgotten memories of youthful awakenings, what was and what could have been.

Maleek Jackson, 30, had such thoughts this week when he returned to E.M. Stanton School, where he was warmly greeted by teachers Ilene Heller and Holly Shaw-Hollis, who were there when Jackson was a troubled student in the 1990s.

Stepping back into the 1920's-era South Philadelphia building at 17th and Christian streets triggered some sobering memories for Jackson, of cutting class and hanging with friends at Marian Anderson Park. He was in middle school at the time, a small boy with a stutter.

Poor grades required him to repeat 8th grade before he moved on to Audenried High School, from which he would never graduate. Instead, Jackson was shipped off to state prison after pleading guilty as an adult to home invasion, armed robbery and aggravated assault. He was 16 years old.

During ten years behind bars, Jackson matured. He earned his G.E.D. He started exercising, running, boxing and turned his 6-foot, 150-lbs. frame into a lean, muscular machine.

After being paroled three and a half years ago he made physical fitness his business, becoming a personal trainer whose clients have included prominent businessman, District Attorney Seth Williams, rapper Meek Mill, Fox 29 personality Quincy Harris and fellow Stanton alum Dion Waiters, the Miami Heat shooting guard.

That's why he came back to his old school, Jackson told the classroom of 8th graders, who listened intently to his real, raw words.

Clad in a tight T-shirt featuring this nickname, "The Body Doctor," Jackson said he came up the hard way.

You, too, can achieve your goals, he told them, without that sort of decadelong detour he took.

"My visit today is for you to think about what you want to do with your life and really take the steps to do that and [avoid] the everyday peer pressure of wanting to fit in and wanting to be liked," said Jackson. He spoke in the quick, streetwise cadence of one of his mentors, Philly-born boxing champ Bernard Hopkins.

Jackson said he had no one to turn to for good advice, despite growing up with eight brothers and two sisters. His parents were absent.

His aunt, Shirlean Dukes, worked 30 years at Stanton, and was a good mother figure. But the draw of the streets was too strong and devastated him and his brothers, Jackson told the students.

Three of his brothers were murdered at ages 17, 19 and 25 - two while he was serving time.

While in prison he ran workout groups for inmates. Upon his release, he had trouble finding a job with his record. He channeled his energies at the Joe Hand boxing gym in Northern Liberties, where he started building a following. He has a few dozen clients.

Jackson likes visiting schools and basketball camps. He tells students to take their education seriously, to absorb what their teachers tell them.

"When you find people like [your teachers], they're trying to give you something. They don't come here to taken nothing from you. You got to pay attention and listen to them. And perhaps, you won't be like me."

Jackson said he was heading later that day to film his third appearance on HBO with Hopkins, but the Stanton visit was the highpoint of his schedule.

"The chance to speak to y'all, the 8th grade class, and I did 8th grade twice! That's a joyful feeling for me because perhaps, you can see me and say, 'all right, let me straighten out my act so I can work toward going to a better high school, work toward going to a better college and increase my chance of being a politician, an NBA player, an NFL player, a lawyer, a doctor a nurse,'" he said.

"I have clients in everyone of those fields."

After he spoke the students hit him with a flurry of questions: how did he survive being so young in prison? What are his goals? He answered them all, the posed for plenty of pictures.

"Not many people came from his situation who come back and give back those lessons and knowledge," said Rickey Duncan, 13, the student government president. "I'm glad he did that because some people who may have been going into bad stuff, that may have changed them by him telling his story."

Heller, who's taught at Stanton since 1995, invited Jackson to speak.

"I just though it was really important for him to come and say, 'Yes, I've made mistakes, but now I've fixed my mistakes. And just because I'm an African American male that's been incarcerated I can still make a difference. I don't have to just give up on my dreams.'"

Principal Stacey Burnley, who is in the early stages of creating a mentorship program at her school of 270 pre-K-to-eighth-grade pupils, said Jackson's message is timely for students bound for high school:

"What I heard him say was, 'I did all this stuff, but I could have been more successful than just the three years that I have under my belt.' Our kids are coming up to the age group where he was, right at the critical tipping point. I hope what the kids heard was that the choices they make now last a lifetime, but they don't define them."

215-854-4172 @mensahdean