A Bond Forged in Hope: How Rob and Michele Reiner Became Family to a Man Facing Life in Prison

By Emmanuel Bobby

Less than 36 hours before they were killed last month, Rob and Michele Reiner were seated in a Los Angeles theater watching Lyrics From Lockdown, a one-man performance about race, justice and mass incarceration in America.

At the heart of the show is Nanon Williams, a Texas prisoner who has spent 34 years behind bars for a murder he says he did not commit. Over the past decade, Williams quietly built a deep and transformative relationship with the Reiners—one rooted in love, compassion and belief in redemption.

Rob, the celebrated filmmaker, and Michele, a photographer, producer and activist, came to love Williams, now 51, like a son. They exchanged emails with him almost daily, promised he could live with them if he were ever released, and welcomed him into their family. Their daughter, Romy, referred to Williams as her big brother.

“He became like family,” Romy said in a statement.

The connection between the Reiners and Williams reflected values that defined much of Rob’s work: chosen family, empathy and the possibility of second chances. Williams had been incarcerated since he was 17, much of his adult life spent in near-total isolation. The Reiners lived a life shaped by film, public platforms and influence. Yet the bond they formed bridged those vastly different worlds.

“They were an integral part of my life,” Williams said in an interview from prison. “They became a part of me.”

On Friday evening, Dec. 12, the final night the Reiners attended the show, words Williams had written from prison were read aloud onstage. His mother, sisters, wife and close friends filled the audience. The Reiners attended on a double date with longtime friends Billy Crystal and his wife, with Romy joining them. Hope filled the room. Williams’ case had regained momentum after new evidence challenged the ballistics testimony used to convict him in a 1992 killing.

That night, Rob embraced Williams’ sister and promised, “We’re going to make sure Nanon gets out.”

Williams’ mother later recalled the warmth of the Reiners’ embrace. “These were not phony people,” she said. “They were the sweetest, most loving people I’ve ever met.”

Two days later, Williams returned to his cell at a maximum-security prison outside Houston and saw a news alert on his tablet. Two people had been found dead in a home owned by Rob and Michele Reiner.

He immediately sent a message to Michele: “Please, this can’t be true.”

Soon, the reality became unavoidable. Rob and Michele were dead, and their son, Nick, had been charged with their murders. Williams, confined to prison, was left to grieve alone.

Days later, three new emails appeared on his tablet—messages sent before the Reiners died. Michele’s final email, timestamped the night after the performance, was filled with joy and hope. She wrote about the show, meeting Williams’ mother, and dreaming of the day they would watch it together with him.

She signed off the way she always did:

Love you
Michele

Williams’ life story is marked by trauma and loss. As a child in Los Angeles, he visited his father in prison. He witnessed his uncle’s murder at age 7. His father was later killed in a drug-related shooting. By his teens, Williams was on his own, selling drugs to survive.

In May 1992, during a gathering at a Houston park, gunfire erupted. A teenager named Adonius Collier was killed. Williams acknowledged firing a gun but has long denied firing the fatal shot. The prosecution’s case relied on the testimony of a co-defendant who received a lenient deal and a ballistics expert whose conclusions were later proven wrong.

Williams was convicted and sentenced to death.

He spent years on death row, isolated in a small cell, watching other men be led away to execution. “I used to wonder why I was still here,” he said.

Years later, new evidence emerged. The ballistics expert recanted his testimony, admitting the fatal bullet came from the co-defendant’s gun. Even the prosecutor later questioned the credibility of the state’s key witness. Jurors said the new evidence could have changed the verdict. Yet Williams remained incarcerated, his sentence later reduced to life without parole after executions of juveniles were outlawed.

The Reiners’ story with Williams began in 2003, when he wrote to poet and scholar Bryonn Bain after seeing a television segment about racial injustice. That correspondence inspired Lyrics From Lockdown, a spoken-word production blending Bain’s life with Williams’ poetry. The show premiered in 2013 and eventually reached some of the nation’s most prestigious stages.

In 2016, Rob and Michele Reiner saw the performance and asked to be introduced to Williams. What began as letters and phone calls evolved into something deeper—daily emails, emotional support and unconditional care.

“They didn’t want credit,” Williams said. “They helped me because they loved me.”

Their children saw it, too. “My parents spoke about him with such love,” Romy said. “He taught me more about compassion than anyone I’ve ever met.”

In recent years, Williams’ case gained renewed attention. In 2024, a state forensic commission formally concluded that the ballistics testimony used to convict him was wrong. His legal team sought a new trial under a law allowing challenges based on flawed forensic science. The request remains pending.

Rob and Michele both wrote letters on Williams’ behalf.

“I’ve met many impressive people,” Rob wrote. “But apart from my father, no one has impressed me more than Nanon Williams.”

Today, Williams wears a rubber bracelet that reads Stand By Me, the title of one of Rob Reiner’s films. It was meant to coincide with a prison screening Rob planned to attend.

That screening never happened.

Williams now thinks often about the Reiners—and about their son, Nick, who faces charges that echo Williams’ own past.

“I was judged to be beyond redemption,” Williams said. “The question I ask myself is, what would they want for their son?”

He paused before answering.

“They would want love. Compassion. Understanding.”

After 34 years in prison, Williams says it was his relationship with Rob and Michele Reiner that finally healed his anger.

“The greatest stories,” Rob once told him, “should be about love.”

Even when they break your heart.