Original article from US News
DETROIT (AP) — When Leonard Fantroy began going blind in prison in November 2014, he initially thought the sharp pain in his eyes was a migraine.
Then he stepped outside and saw what looked like a thick fog enveloping the prison yard — but other inmates couldn't see it.
After a series of neurological tests, doctors confirmed what Fantroy feared, that he was losing his vision.
"I'm sitting there crying because I'm like, I got all these plans when I go home to take care of my family because I don't want to go home and sell dope," Fantroy recalled to the Detroit Free Press.
Transporting and selling drugs in Detroit had landed him in prison three times. Legally blind when he was released for the last time in 2016, Fantroy said he found a new determination to not return.
He started a landscaping company in 2018, rounding up a crew made up of his teenage sons and guys from his neighborhood on the city's northeast side, some of whom also had criminal convictions. He dreamed up the idea after a month of sleeping on the floor because he couldn't afford furniture for his rental home.
Fantroy, 41, manages the business with help from a small team of supporters. There's a longtime friend who handles his paperwork and contributes her own money toward lawn mowers and landscaping tools. There's a man he met in prison who's seeking out entrepreneurship training for Fantroy.
Running a small business for the first time brings its challenges. Fantroy has wrestled with broken-down equipment and been targeted by thieves. He's hasn't been able to get a loan because of his credit score.
He pushes forward with urgency.
"My vision is fading. Every day I lose. So I have to be in a hurry," he said.
Fantroy's vision is 20/200 in one eye and 20/400 in the other. He can see objects, but he can't discern details.
"One of my biggest obstacles is not being able to do what I want to do. Somebody's gotta drive me around. That's my plight," he said.
Fantroy has optic neuritis, a condition that causes his immune system to attack his optic nerves. It's a common symptom of multiple sclerosis, but he doesn't have MS and said doctors haven't been able to pinpoint the underlying cause.
He gets an infusion every six weeks that slows down the degeneration of his nerves, a treatment he began in prison.
When running his business, Leonard Fantroy's Lawn Service LLC, he stands back and lets his crew handle the residential and commercial jobs. He gets his hands dirty when the gigs don't call for precise attention to detail, like boarding up windows and clearing yards for the Detroit Land Bank Authority.
"I can run every piece of equipment except ride on lawnmowers," he said.
Fantroy relies on his friend Latasha Lockett to keep his paperwork straight. The two met in 2003 and were roommates for a time before they lost touch. They reconnected after Fantroy got out of prison.
She bought him his first lawnmower and started picking up tools for him here and there. Lockett hasn't kept track of how much money she's invested.
In all the years of their friendship, she said she hadn't seen Fantroy as happy as he was when he got his business license and bought his first snowblower.
"I got faith in him," said Lockett, who works in adult home help care. "I believe he's come a long way."
On a recent morning, Fantroy watched from a curb as a few of his employees packed debris into a trailer outside a vacant home that they were readying for the Land Bank. Fantroy mentally calculated how much additional money they could bring in if he could afford a few dump trailers.
He calls this his "drug dealer mind," referring to how he says he used to rake in thousands of dollars in a matter of days on the streets.
Now his earnings are much more modest.
"I can go get a pound of weed or a kilo of cocaine right now quicker than I can get a loan," he said.
But he won't, he says, because selling drugs again after scraping his business together wouldn't feel the same. And he wants to be around for his children.
The criminal justice reform organization Michigan Liberation is trying to connect Fantroy with entrepreneurship training and financial assistance. Earl Burton, a justice fellow with the group, met Fantroy in prison and cheers on his work ethic.
"He's not sitting back like, 'Oh, poor me. I'm losing my sight,' " Burton said. "He's like an inspiration to me. If he can do it, anybody ought to be able to."
Fantroy said his father taught him to count drug money at a young age.
His dad also taught him how to mow lawns.
"Now I appreciate the struggle. I love being broke," he said. "I love being who I am."
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Information from: Detroit Free Press, http://www.freep.com
An AP Member Exchange shared by the Detroit Free Press.
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