“Five Twenties, A Life Of Living Dangerously, is an emotional, dark, suspenseful story. The subject is raw, disquiet- disturbingly unsettling. Inspired by true events, however dates, most names have been changed throughout this story for obvious reasons and to protect the innocent. Some incidents have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. 

NOTE: THE MANUSCRIPT HAS BEEN DIVIDED INTO “THREE- BOOKS” 

BOOK ONE, BOOK TWO, BOOK THREE. …

One afternoon, I ran into Eddie at the Bodega over on 159 St. and Melrose Ave in the South Bronx while I’m buying a couple of beers. He’s a tall, white Irish guy who I knew through my friend, Moe. I hadn’t seen him since I left for the Army over two years ago.

What I had heard about Eddie when I got home—he had been doing a life term at a prison in Alabama, or a chain gang, as we called it, for participating in a bank robbery that resulted in the double murder of two tellers.

The best way I could describe Eddie is that he was flagitious, extremely wicked.

‘Just, Criminal ..

We head over to a basketball court over on 158 St. to drink our beers. We got to  talking, exchanging stories about what we’d been doing. Neither one of us has been up to anything productive. He tells me he’s on the run, that he’s a fugitive.

“How did you escape dude,” I ask him in between sips of my Schaefer.

“I fake being sick. I throw up after eating a bar of soap and I shake like I’m having convulsions. They took me to the med unit off the prison grounds,”

He tells me..

“They handcuffed me in front and I undid them in the back of the unmarked patrol car, with a paperclip I had in my mouth. I let the cuffs sit loosely unlocked on my wrist.

When we pulled up to the med unit, the passenger guard got out to help me out of the back seat and I pretended that I was still in a daze.

As he started to help me get out of the back, I slipped the cuffs off and I was able to take his gun. I quickly hit him across the head, knocking him to the ground. By the time the driver realized what was happening, I have him in the sights of the gun.

I yell at him not to move and tell him to keep his hands on the steering wheel. I get in the passenger side, take his gun, force him out and speed off towards the interstate.”

A short time later, he was spotted, a chase ensued by the State Troopers. He said that the chase was intense: He had finally lost them for a bit, but they ultimately spotted the car and picked up the chase.

He got off the main road in a panic. He took a back country route hoping to lose them, only to realize that it was a dead-end. But the dead-end was just after a small bridge.

“My only chance of getting out of that was to drive the unmarked police car off the fucking bridge,” Eddie says with a smile, a glint of crazy peaking through his deep, blue eyes.

When I came to the bridge, I drove that piece of shit Ford right into the river. I was hoping it would look like an accident—like I had lost control and drowned.”

Moments before the car went hurtling into the water, Eddie said he opened the door and rolled out, clutching the cop’s guns against him.

He swam and floated downstream for a day, being careful to stay off the roads and paths, avoiding contact with anyone.

After a week, he made his way back to New York City. . .

Now here ‘He was  in the South Bronx, strung-out-as-can-be, hiding  from U.S. Marshall service. . .

He might have been the fugitive, but we were both on borrowed time. We decided to hang out and hustle together, to pool our resources.

A few nights later he tells me he hasa mark for us.

“It’s a two-man job—we can take down this heroin dealer up on the Grand Concourse,” he said, we can do it, it’s just a guy and his wife. They’ll be home late, maybe at 3:00 in the morning.

They deal at the club on Jerome Avenue on Friday and Saturday nights. I know they’ll have a shitload of money, maybe some smack we can split.”

I tell him I’ll think about it. I’m not comfortable with it. A lot can go

I’m in. Tell me the plan, I say to him two days later.

The plan is simple; he says..simple;

“They get in at about 3:30 in the morning, we’ll be waiting for them on different floors.

I’ll run down from the 5th, you’ll run up from the 3rd floor when we hear the elevator coming up. As the doors open, we take them.”

I must have shown my hesitance on my face because Eddie assured me that it would all be OK’.?

“You know they’re not going to call the cops,as he takes a deep drag off of his cigarette. What are they going to do? Call the police and say, ‘Hey we were just robbed at gunpoint for our dope and drug money.? ”

Well, how do we get away.?

“I’ll steal a car the night of”

He says.

Which night.?

“Let’s do Friday night I’m desperate.”

So am I’.,

Will need weapons, I can borrow a gun form “Flaco” for myself but what about you.?

” I think, I can get a piece’ but I’m not 100 percent sure. . .

We’ll take them and then head back to the neighborhood, relax, it’ll be easy.”

We hash over the plan. We’re all set. Friday night is two days away. I’ll finally have some money and some smack to sell—maybe enough to get away from the ghetto.

Friday night I’m down and out, drinking a bottle of pluck in the front foyer of my mother’s building while I wait for Eddie at 2:30 in the morning. .

It’s February, it’s 10 degrees outside. I’m wearing an Army green field jacket over a T-shirt with a light sweater over that.

A pair of old sneakers and some blue jeans. I have the gun and a 10 inch knife for Eddie, just in-case he comes up empty-handed.

I’ve tucked them both in my jacket and jeans. Leaning against the door and I can hear the cold winter wind howl. My breath fogs up the glass as I stare out onto the street.

All I need now is to be seen in the entrance by a patrol car and I’m fucked.

Standing in the shadow of the dimly lit foyer.

I start pacing back and forth, stopping periodically to look out onto the cold street through the small window panes.

I’m shivering. My feet and hands are numbing up. “Where the fuck is he?” is all I can think.

Twenty minutes have pass when he finally shows up. I can barely make out his silhouette through the grimy passenger side window of the dark gray car.

It looks like its days have come and gone.. .

Rust runs from one end to the other along the panels. It’s a piece of shit. I’m surprised it’s even running, couldn’t he have done better?

He had pulled up to the curb in front of the building. I came out and ran up to the door, which strained and squealed as I yanked it open.

I was expecting to feel the warmth of the car when I got in, but it was just as cold in the car as it was outside.

There’s a screwdriver handle sticking halfway out of the ignition. The interior is tarnished and shredded. All the windows have the same layer of grime throughout.

Dude,I start complaining. My man, could you have gotten something with a heater that works.!?

“I was stealing a car, not buying one,” he says sharply, his eyes bloodshot and bulging, even though the car is ice cold, he’s sweating. . .

We’re there in 15 minutes. We drive around the block to scope out the surrounding area in case we can’t use the car for a getaway.

We’re near the 167th St. train station on Jerome Avenue. There’s a small-park Two blocks away.

It’s not big enough to hide in, but we could use the cover to make our way to the South side of the Grand Concourse if need be. We swing our way back to the front of the building.

We’re lucky—there’s a spot just off the front of the entrance.

We park. He turns off the engine and we sit in the car for a few minutes to get a feel for the street. It’s quiet, except for that howling winter wind. If all goes right, it will be a quick getaway back to Melrose Avenue.

We go over our plan once more. He insists on having the gun even though I had offered him the knife first.

“I need that gun man,” he says.

“I’m the one that’s fucking going to take the man. You’ll be able to keep that bitch at bay with the knife.”

“Fine, fine,” I say somewhat reluctantly.

“But no one is to get hurt, do you hear me? At all, No one.”

He smiles that smile again as he reaches for the door handle. He must’ve done some Blow before because his eyes look, wide and crazier than usual while white saliva starts to built up in the corners of his mouth.

I can smell him now. He hasn’t showered in days.

“I doubt they’ll put up much of a fight at all,” he says.

Turns off the engine leaving the screwdriver in the ignition.

The clock on the dash says 3:15. It’s time to do it, we’re set.

Walking up to the building the door, it isn’t locked. We quietly walk in and close the door behind us gently. The lobby of the building is spacious, but it reminds me of a sunken living room.

The floor is checkered with old black-and-white tiles. The ceiling is high and adorned with huge bright chandeliers at the center.

I’m trying to take in as much detail as I can so the way out will be a quick exit. The elevators are directly to our front; the staircase is to the left.

We walk towards the stairs quietly—our footing is soft and deliberate all the way up. No one must hear us as we get to the 4th floor.

There are four units on every floor, there is one  closest to the stairs and furthest from the elevator.  I go down to the landing between the 3rd and 4th floors while Eddie goes up between the 4th and the 5th.

I have done nothing like this before. I’m nervous about the whole thing. So much can go wrong, but it’s too late for second thoughts.

About 10 minutes go by and we hear the elevator coming up.

They’re right on schedule. Eddie comes down and I go up as we hear the hum of the ascending elevator.

My heart pounds as I hear the elevator pause on our floor. We both wait until the door opens and then we’ll spring on them.

Moments later the doors open. They’re both dressed in party attire..

She has on a mink fur coat with a silk scarf wrap around her neck. Her dress clings to her thin body, the keys of the apartment dangle from her right hand, while her left grips a black and gold clutch . . .

He’s wearing a fedora, a black suit and tie, a pink shirt, wing-tipped shoes, and a heavy overcoat with the collar pulled up around his neck to protect him from the cold..

We’re on them in seconds. Eddie grabs him by the throat and puts the gun to the side of his head. His fedora gets knocked off.

The woman screams. In an instant, I have her by the throat with my left hand. With my right, I bring the knife to her face.

“Shut the fuck up bitch or it won’t be good for you!” I yell at her repeatedly.

I, have the knife right in her face, that’s all she’ sees. I can see her reflection in the 10 inch  blade as she whimpers. She’s terrified.

“Please don’t cut my face, she says between cries”

She drops her keys on the floor; I kick them across the hall.

Eddie has the man against the elevator door. The man is very calm, or at least he seems a lot calmer than the woman.

Too me, he looks like he’s very surprised that this is happening to him..

Eddie tells him to take everything out of his pockets. He stretches out his left hand. . .

“Give me everything!

Eddie yells, his crazy eyes bulging, spit flying from his mouth.

Whatever dope and money you have—give it up now.! 

I’m going to search you mother fucker.!

If I find you’ve got something hidden, I’ll shoot this bitch in the face! ”

The woman instantly starts to cry more hysterically.

I tighten my grip around her throat, her eyes fill with fright

I whisper in her ear she needs to shut the fuck up.

I don’t like what I’m doing here. I’m worrying that Eddie might shoot them both. I want to get going.

Within a few more moments the man has emptied his pockets and Eddie is stuffing his left jacket pocket with wads of cash and small glossy plastic bags of dope.

He’s still holding the gun to the man’s head with his right hand. . .

“That’s it! That’s all I’ve got!” the man yells.

Eddie does a quick pat down and looks over at me and screams “GO.!”—the magic word to run out to the car.

I turn and run down the stairs, glancing back at Eddie, he suddenly starts pistol-whipping the man, hitting him with three quick successions of the gun barrel across the side of his head and face.

The screams are loud as I reach the 3rd floor landing. I am racing down the stairs, taking the steps three at a time.

I hear Eddie, he’s just one floor behind me, laughing loudly as he’s running down’ ..

I’m in the lobby and running towards the door when my sixth sense tells me to look back.

I see Eddie come off the stairs and see the gun come up from his right side.

As the gun fires—at that very instant—I fall forward. I had forgotten about the sunken floor in the lobby and I missed that step.

The bullet misses me by centimeters.

It hits one of doors in the wrought iron frame, shattering the glass. Just as he reaches me, I spring to my feet quickly enough to jump up and thrust my knife up to his neck. . .

“You tried to kill me motherfucker!!” I scream.

My body is shaking but the hand pressing the knife against his throat is steady.

“No dude, I didn’t! It just went off! I swear!” he screams. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here!”

That mother fucker tried to kill me, it’s as simple as that. If it had not been for the fact that I didn’t see the step down into the sunken lobby, I would’ve gotten one right to the back of my head.

I let him go and we dash to the car. We peel out. This time, the screeching tires are the only sound in the night. We drive without talking.

I keep wondering if he’s going to shoot me when we pull up.

I grip the knife handle in my jacket. If he makes a move to shoot me, I’ll somehow need to be quick enough to plunge it into his chest before he can pull the trigger.

I might have the advantage: He’s driving and the steering wheel might be enough of an obstruction.

We pull up in front of my mother’s building 15 minutes later. It’s almost 4:00 AM and the streets are deserted in the South Bronx. Eddie turns off the engine and kills the lights.

I need to relax—my life might depend on it.

“Get out of the car,” he says calmly.

“What about my cut?” I ask.

Suddenly, the gun is in my face. His bloodshot eyes are crazier than ever. His lips are cracked and the white saliva is back in the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t waiver.

‘He tells me again to get out.!!

At that moment, I remember that he’s wanted for a double homicide in Alabama. But I’m desperate for the money.

“I need my cut man,” I say, staring at him dead on. I don’t blink. I say it again. “I need my cut.”

He goes into his left side pocket, crumbled bills with clear glossy envelopes (I assumed was heroin) appear in his hand. He puts the gun on his lap and starts to count the money.

As he’s counting, I think that this might be my chance to kill him, but I think about it too long. The moment passes. He looks up at me and hands me five twenties.

I look down to recount the money.

When I look up, the gun is raised again, just inches from my face. I hear it cock.

I’m looking at him down the barrel of the gun.

“ Get the fuck out.! ” . . .

As I go to open the door, he says,

“For what it’s worth, that dude knows me, he’s Mob, Connected.

You’d better lie low because they’re going to come looking for us.

And they won’t wait long.”

Chapter: Two Escape:

“I fear death. I think I must learn to romanticize death so I can cope with its brutal irreversible numbness.”

Lukhman Pambra..

I standing alongside the car as it pulls away. The rear lights go up Melrose Avenue they take a right on 158th Street, vanishing around the turn.

I stood there frozen in the moment my right hand shove into my pocket holding the Five Twenties.

The ghetto taught me, awareness of my environment., My surroundings require me to be aware of the eminent possibility of violence. I knew what I would do, before it happened. It had eliminated my fear of not living forever., 

Add to that, the hard lesson I’ve learned here tonight is, I must become more proficient at what I do, with fewer tools. . . with the opportunity to finally spit the ghetto out of my mouth: ‘knowing escape is in my pocket’.,

My mind clicks over. If I had known they were connected, I would not have done this take-down tonight, Eddie had handed me a death sentence.

Maybe the reason he shot at me in the building lobby was to keep me from giving him up if they caught up to me first?

The adrenaline rush is gone, it feels like the temperature has dropped. The chill is back in my body, as walk over to the building going into the foyer to recount the five twenties.

Not enough to do much with. I have to weigh my options or I’ll be fucked again. My mind is racing, what am I going to do? Where will I go?

Suddenly I remember borrowing the gun from Flaco — I promised to return it with a $50.00 surcharge, except Eddie has it.

Getting it back will not happen. I must pay Flaco, the full price of the gun, $200.00 dollars.

I have to get lost before sunrise. . .

They won’t wait to come looking for us. Eddie has really fucked me!

Realizing I still have the knife in my jacket, my mind screams, “Get rid of it!” I step out of the foyer, into the howling wind and glance up and down the avenue to make sure it’s all clear.

I take a right and I hug the building; walking alongside of it, towards the alley making taking right into it. 

I go over to some garbage cans, lift the cover off one and shove the knife deep into bottom side of it, shuffling the trash on top around.

My hands feel like icicles as I re-cover the can, pushing the lid down tight. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets walk back towards the street.

Though my mind is still racing. It dawns on me in that garbage filled alley., The only place I can go and be invisible is Puerto Rico — my Aunt’s family is my only option or I’ll surely be dead within 48 hours?

As I step out of the alley, my legs control my mind. They carry me out of the ally to the edge of the sidewalk. I step off the curb and stand there between two parked cars. I look up and down Melrose Avenue.

How do I get away? As I look left, towards 161st Street, I see a yellow cab take a right onto Melrose Ave.

“What the fuck is a Checker doing here?

A drop-off maybe?

It cruises towards me. . .

Stepping out from the two parked cars, I watch the taxi roll slowly down the avenue. I realize I stretch my arm out above me. I’m hailing it.

As it slowly pulls up to me, stopping besides me. I lean into the passenger window, which is cracked open just two inches.

I feel the warmth of the airflow-soothing my face.

“Where are you going.?”

The airport’ . . .

“You have money,” he says with a curt smile.

I pull from my pocket the five twenties and flash him the money:

The door clicks open.

As I get into the cab, the warmth within, immediately eases the feelings of distress in me.,

Looking back at me through the rear-view mirror-asking:

“Which one “

I snap back.,

The fucking airport man!

I am still on edge from the events of the night.

He glares back at me with a sideways stare.

“Which… ‘One.!”

He doesn’t seem to be entertained.

Idlewild- PAN-AM.

Keeping his eyes glued on me through the rear-view mirror, he brings his hand up to the meter turning on the inline odometer. As we pull away, I vanish into the night from the South Bronx. . . 

We don’t speak on the way. I can tell he doesn’t want to know what I’ve been up to..

The cab pulls into the departure ramp 45 minutes later. It’s almost 5:00 AM. The fare is $3.50. I hand him one twenty and he gives me back the change.

I give him a $1.50 tip; I pocket the remaining $15.00-quickly bolt from the cab and run into the terminal. I step through the doors and come to a dead stop at the entrance.

It’s virtually empty and eerily quiet.

As in Marcel Proust’s novel, “Swann’s Way: In Search of Lost Time.”

The clock that hung above the counter drew me in like the the madeleine cookie that brings forth his ability to capture the subtlest nuances of human emotions  and the slightest variations of the mind and the soul

A rush of memories flood my mind. Though I’m stepping through the doors of the Pan-Am-entrance, I am also stepping into my past.

Now years later, I prepared to make the journey back.

I quickly looked for someone behind the few airline counters that stood before me. They seemed to stretch down the length of the terminal.

Behind the PAN-AM counter were three ticket agents — two men and a woman — they’re sipping coffee as the sun rise, breaking through the towering windows.

The woman looked like a Latina — deep brown hair, amber eyes, red lipstick that makes her olive complexion shine with a tint of gold. I like her smile. I gravitate towards her.

I realize myself: I’m unkempt, my clothing looks tattered and surely must smell like the homeless person I look like.?

I step up to the counter, and she steps back slightly.

“Checking in sir?” she asks in a light tone.

I look at her quizzically. Other than my time in the Army, this is my first time in an airport since I came to New York all those years ago.

“No miss, I say, looking down at my feet, a little embarrassed. I want to go to Puerto Rico on the next flight. How much is it?”

She looks me up and down and smiles with added empathy in her eyes.

“One moment please,” she says as she starts to tap on her keyboard. “The earliest flight is leaving 7:30 am, that’s almost 3 hours from now.

It’s a nonstop flight to Puerto Rico, arriving in San Juan at 11:00 this morning. Can I book you on that flight?”

I swallow hard, my throat is dry. “How much is it?” . 

“That would be $99.50 one way, do you want me to book you on that flight?” she asks again.

I reach into my pocket and count what I have left — $95.00. I put it on the counter and push the money towards her. She looks down at the money on the counter.

“It looks like you’re a bit short. It’s $99.50.”

“That’s all I have,” I say, as a pang of fear flashes across my face.

“I’m sorry. It’s it $99.50,” she says.

 I quickly reply with a dry rasping voice as my eyes swell with tears.

Please! if I don’t leave on that flight, I’ll never be able to leave New York again, it’s a matter of life and death!

Someone must be watching out for me:

She says:

“I’ll give you the difference so you can get home.”

It would be a few years before I come back to New York. I would not wait for death, I’ll pull it back together by becoming someone else; by leaving that stranger behind me. 

” So I hoped.,

Chapter: 3

My  Earliest  Memory, Is  Terror . . .

“Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality”

Edgar Allan Poe”

My return to the Island, starts me thinking about who will I reach out to? How will, I’ become invisible? Whom; am I going to reach-out to? 

With only three choices the odds are not good:

1st. ‘Best choice: My Aunt?

2nd. least Worst:

My half brother and Uncles, Aunts, who, all try to kidnap me and Louis as children.

“There’s a lot of animosity there!

Choice number: 3. The worst!

‘The Street.!!

‘Everything I’ve learn has to come into play now, or it’s my ass.,

I start thinking of growing up on the Island and my first memory as a child.

Growing-up my home was not’ like most homes, most people grow up in. Never mind the size’—it was built of weathered boards, with a zinc sheet metal roof that it rested on wooden pillars to prevent it from shifting when sheets of water came down during the Puerto Rican rain season.

It was a 400-square-foot tiny one room structure that had a porch with an overhang that was made out of plywood planks, the front door had a makeshift screen to keep the mosquitoes and bugs out.

My father built this blue and white house with its crooked roof on an eighth of an acre of land at the edge of a sugarcane field for his new bride, my mother.

There was no front yard, just a stretch of black dirt that went out to the beginning of the sugarcane fields. The air was sweet with the smell of mango’s, thanks to the grove to the right of the sugar cane field.

When the sun would fall around us and the moon would rise into the sky, we were surrounded by the dim light of lanterns or candles—electricity was a utility reserved for the rich.

We were dirt poor and lived in total impoverishment, but at almost 4-years-old, who knew. All I knew was that in this home, we were happy.

My father was born and raised in Spain. Before my mother, he was married to a Dominican woman and had three children. He was somewhat of a big man—about 230 lbs and 6’5″feet tall, with light green eyes. He always had a full head of white hair.

He was 24 years older than my mother—when they eloped, she was just 20-years-old, and a real beauty with eyes of amber and jet black hair to her waist.

She had already had a son, my half brother Johnny, who was almost 4-years-old when she met my father.

My mother was born on New Year’s day in 1914. She was born “porpa” and went through life with only a second grade education.

She could barely write her own name, never mind read. She was from southern Puerto Rico, from the town of Sabana Grande.

She was the youngest of 10, and was among the luckiest—eight of her siblings had succumb to the deadly influenza of the early 20th century.

Her and her sister were called the socorros—the soul survivors.

When I was an adult, she told me that when she was 7-years-old she was pulled out of school and put to work on a coffee plantation, a place that she would call home until her mid teens.

She was the youngest at the coffee mill that was on the outskirts of the plantation.

Everyday she would get up to grind the beans to take to the market at 5:00 AM and work until 3:00 PM.

When she got older, she was introduced to the kitchen. A shifted, that demanded her time from 4:00 PM to 7:00 PM.

She did this until her mother married her off on her 15th birthday for a dowry of $10.00 and a goat. She went off to live on a sugarcane plantation with her first husband, and bore him a son.

My half brother Johnny.

Just three years later at the age of 18, she was introduce to the man that would be my father. A secret affair ensued . . . 

Unhappy, she ran off with my father at the age of 20. Over the next few years she bore him two sons, me and my brother Louie.

As a toddler I had reddish hair and dark green eyes, with a light olive complexion. Louie had jet black hair and amber eyes like my mother, also with a light olive complexion.

Louie and I look more like my father, whose ancestors were of Spanish heritage.

Johnny was darker in hair and eyes, and he had a darker olive complexion, All I knew of his father was his first name, “Marin,” a field hand or laborer of some kind.

My father had three grown children from his first marriage, Manny and Juan. Both were tall, dark, and handsome Latino men when I meet them both some years later.

My father also had a daughter who I have never met, nor knew her name—she was kept secret and refused to acknowledge ‘Us.

He and his first wife had ran off to the Dominican Republic and went into hiding to escape the U.S. government’s World War 1 draft.

While visiting family in Sabana Grande in 1934, my father met my mother. He courted her for almost Two years, on his bi-monthly visits, before she left her husband and ran of, with my father.

It was a scandal among both families and in the Latino community and other social circles because of their age difference.

What I knew of either of my grandparents was that my mother’s father was a revolutionary who rode a white horse and was shot down during the rebellion of Lares by the Spanish colonial system in the mid-19th century.

I never met my grandparents on either side. 

From what I understood, my mother saw her mother one last time to say goodbye before we migrated to the United States. She never returned to Puerto Rico or saw her again.

I was almost 4-years-old and Louie was 2 1/2-years-old at the time of the sugar cane incident, while Johnny was about seven years old.,

This is how I remember my earliest memory, a memory filled with terror at almost 4 year old:

‘One hot summer morning my Mother tells my brother Johnny to go over to the mango grove and pick some mangos for her. My brother Louie and  I’ tag-along to the grove that sat next to the sugar cane field.

The heat of the sun shone on our faces as we walked barefoot through the lanes of the sugarcane: I could hear the crunching sound of trampled sugarcane under our bare feet among the cut stalks, as the high humidity clung to our skin..

Johnny was ahead of us by a good five paces as we reached the edge of the sugarcane field.

“The dogs! The dogs are coming! The dogs are coming!” he screams in a panicked that cuts through the air.

He took off towards us into a full sprint, screaming “run, run, Carlito’! Run Louis! Run the dogs are coming!”

Terror infused our soul as  children.

As we ran back towards the safety of the house, I looked behind to get a glimpse and I saw the pack for a brief moment, moving swiftly and stealthy through the cut stalks of the sugarcane field.,

“We are being hunted!” Johnny screams with such terror and fright that we are all engulfed in the wave of horror within a matter of seconds.

As we ran back towards the house behind Johnny, Louie is crying and screaming “Mami! Mami!”

I glance up as I’m dragging Louie by his hand, who seems to be getting heavier to drag by the second.

I see our mother standing on our porch in the distance, her arm outstretched as her scream comes piercing through the air. She’s too far to save us, to run and comfort us.

I’m screaming at Johnny not to leave us behind, while pulling Louie by his hand alongside me as fast as my feet can carry me.

But we’re not fast enough.

As I  look towards my left I notice that the biggest dog—a dark beast with red and brown hair and a large snout, showing its snarling white teeth—begins to pick up speed.

The dog gains speed and leaps into the air, just as a pop of thunder rings out across the field. Blood squirts from Johnny’s neck as the dog’s belly gushes out in a massive burst.

We’re all covered in the warm red liquid.. .

I turn to my left to see, where the sound of the thunder had come from.

Seeing my father— Standing a short distance to the left of me and Louie, his gun pointed straight out from his raised right arm.

He had shot at the dog, at the very moment that it had leap into the air.,

‘Not soon enough to keep it, from ripping at his throat, by sinking it’s teeth  into the back of his neck, just missing his carotid artery by centimeters.,

My mother appears seconds later, gripping a few kitchen towels so tight that her knuckles are white. She wraps them around Johnny’s neck.

Tears and screams are pouring out into the field. The rest of the dogs, had scatter in all directions towards the mango grove.

While the sun bakes our back, the air is sweet with the smell of mangoes and blood.

My father takes Johnny to the local country medicine practitioner—a doctor of some kind by the name of Doña Carmen.

She stitches his skin together with a needle and fishing line and no pain medication.

That same day, my father and a few of the other farm hands, tracked the dogs down. The hunters become the hunted, and are executed for their crimes.

Some were shot, while others were strung up for good measure and left to die hanging from the trees.

I later learned that the wild dogs had been attacking the chickens and other small farm animals for months.The farmers had had enough. . .

Johnny will have that scar until his death.

Five Twenties . . .  Part  Two.’

Chapter: 4

‘Vanishing Act  . . .

” People will stare. Make it worth their while”

Harry Winston . . . 

‘Paranoid, anxious about the people that will be looking for me?

How long will they look?

‘I head over to the departing flight terminal to panhandle.

All the tourist are tan and happy there.,

Within 30 minutes I have $5.00 dollars. I go back into the arrival terminal; get something to eat. Right after I’m at the phone-bank calling information.

Aunt Socorro’ number in the County of Bayamon is unlisted.

Instant Bummer.!

Not being able connect with her; I have to try to connect to my Half Brother Manny.

He’s not a choice; ‘But he is my only choice. In spite of the of major apprehension and animosity just under my skin towards him . . .

He’s a Hairdresser:

I try to remember the salon name.? Manny’s salon,?  Manny’s Beauty Parlor.?  Maybe.?  Or something along those lines .?

Minutes later, the operator connects me.

His Salon is in the exclusive Condado area, on Park  Avenue off  Ashford Boulevard. Where Soaring Condos stand alongside-Waterfront Hotels that line-up side by side. . . .

The phone rings on the other end…

I’m nervous. I haven’t spoken to him since he came with Police-in-tow to remove me from my Mother’s Custody some ten or more years’ ago . .

We were told of his success through the family grapevine, specifically’ from our aunt when she visited with Us in the Bronx.

The receptionist answers the phone, in a soft feminine voice . . .

“Good afternoon’, Salon Manual, this is Marisol how may I help you?”

Marisol ” Can I speak with Manny please.?

“ I’m sorry he’s with a client, may I take a message, or if  you would like to schedule an appointment with him.?  I can do that for you.”?

This is his brother Carlito”  from New York City. I need to speak with him, it’s urgent’ ..

“Please hold a moment” . . .

A few moments later Manny gets on the  phone.

“ Carlito”.?  He sounds surprise’.

Yeah ‘

” Carlito “.!

Yeah it’s me’.!

“How are you .? Where are you.? ”

I’m good. . .   I’m at the airport, here in Puerto  Rico’.

‘There’s what seems to me a long pause at the other end . .

Like that needed to sink in . . .

“Are you serious.?

What are you doing here in Puerto  Rico.?

‘His voice showing concern. . .

My reply is ridiculously nonchalant as possible ..

I needed to get out of the Bronx due to some personal life issues, so I decided to come to Puerto Rico to get a clearer perspective on how to handle them.?

“Moving the conversation right along, from further explanation’ 

I was wondering if you could give me, Tia Socorro’s phone number-adding

I need a place to stay…

” I can’t believe it’s you !!”

‘Yeah, I’m here.!

“My god I haven’t seen you in years.”

Yeah, I thought it was time for a change in my environment ,

‘So I need, Tia’ Socorro’s phone Number’ please ? . . .

”Forget that! I’ll come and pick you up, give me 45 minutes to finish-up with my client and I’ll be right over.

What do you look like these  days”.?

I give off a nervous laugh:

I’ look like Jesus Christ, without the Stigmata; below the shoulder, down the middle of my back Hair, a full- beard, tattered clothing.

‘You can’t miss me in a crowd: you’d-be-staring’ . . .

I follow through with What kind of car to you drive .?

Wanting to get off my appearance

“I have a small car an MG, you know, a MiG, it’s Blue’ with a White Racing  Stripe down the middle. I’ll be there soon, wait for me,stay there, I’ll be right over within 45 minutes”

Pick me up at arrivals.?

“Stay there”

I will:

I’m thinking where else am I going to go.? …

While I’m waiting: I give some thought to how he,will react when I tell him I’m running from Mobsters, Drug & Gun Dealers; the cop’s, the stolen car.!

If anyone is even looking for the piece of junk’ .?  . . .

I wonder how it’s going to go.?

What will I’ do if it doesn’t go.?  . . .

I’m fuck’ . . .

An hour later I see the Blue MG with it’s White Racing Stripe down the middle come around the arrivals ramp’…

I wave at him, he’s smiling broadly, as he pulls up to the curb. (The car is mint) Jumps-out over the side without opening the door hugs, kisses me on both  cheeks a few times.

My apprehension and animosity falls by the wayside…

“So how are you.? You don’t look good” …

( Nothing like pointing out the obvious’ )

I know, it’s a long story …

“Let’s get you back to my place you can tell me all about it on the way; first will stop at the Salon I’ll close out ” …

” Where are your Bags”.?

I don’t have any . . .

He Looks at me confusingly and doesn’t seem to believe it. . .

I’ Don’t have any Bro.!

“Come on get in, people are staring at us” …

‘Fuck’em  . . .   

Coming into The Condado, towering palm trees line the avenue. Gleaming white High-Rises-Condos, Hotels dominate the boulevard, silhouette of the palm trees fills the empty Blue sky above Ashford . . .

An hour later we’re on our way to pick-up Highway One which connects to Rio Piedras.

We head Southwest.’

The Tropical Mountain Jungles hangs as a backdrop in the distance.The air sweetens as we’re’ headed further South of San Juan’ . . .

With an edge of sarcasm he says to me  . . .

“So talk to me, tell me about these personal life issues’ that sound like a lot of bull-shit: No offense ”

None taken’ . . .  I’m not sure if you’d want to hear it .?

”Yes I do what to hear it-just tell it ” . . . 

I had started with my Stitch in the Army, my inability to find work when I got back to the Bronx-that would lead to a solid job. Being unable to get back into school. How all that help cause my downfall into the street.

Saying to him, I know none of it sounds good, but I did not have many options. I had to do what I needed to do, to survive on the street ’…

I’ve realize, I’ haven’t accomplished much of anything positive at this point.I’m hoping that’s all going to change?. . . .

“Why didn’t you reach out to me or the family.? Why did you wait till things had gotten so bad”.?

Simple’ After the last time I saw you; what.? Ten-years ago.?  The last memory I had  of you’ was, ‘You showing  up at my mother’s apartment in the middle of the night with Cop’s. !!

That didn’t exactly inspire me. The rest of the family wouldn’t had been able to help me or us’.!  They’re the ones we were hiding  from.!  

Call them.?

‘Really?

I don’t think so’ . . .

After that night they never indicated that they could or would or even offer to help.?

“But, your mother or you’ never ask, did  you.” .?

We  felt we were alone, that you-all had turn your backs on us. It felt like that anyway’… When Tia  Socorro was visiting over the years, she visited with us.’ 

All she would say was, “Send the boys back with me.” Not come back with us. ‘She was good to us nonetheless with support and monies..

Anyway I’ve  gotten myself  into some heavy trouble back in the Bronx That’s why I’m here to hide-out’… He pulls the car over onto the shoulder of the road, throws it into neutral  …

Faces me in a very serious voice he say:

“Are we going to need a lawyer”.?

‘No, that would not help at all …

”Why Not.? ”

I give him, a soft version of the take down from the night before, leveling-out some of the violent details or being shoot at’ . . .

‘Within-a-2-minute span, he starts making facial expressions that indicate disbelieve, moments of disgust,combine with back and forth head shaking. .

Ending with the drug dealers connections to the Mob, that being the why’ I’ had to flee from the Bronx!

 He yells-out! 

“Holy shit! are you “FUCKING  NUTS.!

Who knows you’re here”.??

No one, not even Mom. No one knows I had family on the Island.

I’ll need to call her and let her know where I am, as soon as I can.

“Okay, Okay . . . When we’ get back to my place you’ll call  her; then you need to take a shower. ‘You smell  …  (Laughingly)  I’ll order Us’ something to eat.”

I continue telling him some of  the previous mis-adventures of the family. Johnny goes into the Air-Force. ‘Disappeared.

Louie’s issues adjusting to life in general and finally leaving for the Marine Corp. My mother’s continuous struggle of making ends meet, still happy to be where she is.?

45 minutes later we arrive at a gated community in an upper-middle-class subsection of  Rio Piedras, 20 minutes from it’s downtown. We’re stopped at the Gated  Front Entrance. He’s welcome by the guard by, Mr. Manolo. Is waved through. I’m  in amazement. . .  After a few moments he tells me his house is around the next turn.

The  place is another world far from the rooftop and streets of  he South Bronx. Palm tree lined streets stand guard in front of  Gated  Homes sprawl out along them.

Pulling up to his Ranch Style House; it’s as lavish as the others.

The scheme of the house immediately grabbed you with It’s tropical setting: Stark White Walls, Terracotta Tile Roof. The landscape is dotted with Tropical flowering bushes, Plants.

We head in through the side door, into a vaulted Ceiling Open-Floor Room. It encompasses a dining table with a Caribbean style kitchen just outside the sitting area.The Back Patio is like an enclosed Tropical Lagoon,Topped’ with a blue sky.

A few hammocks are strung from overhanging Palm Trees. Small Lounge Tables and Chaises surround the ingrown pool. An ingrown Barbecue Fire-Pit,with an above ground grill, while the Jacuzzi is right off the back entrance of the house bye the Bar …

A large hedge fence of thick,Tropical Bushes/ Plants offers total  privacy from  the neighbors. . .  I sit at the Bar with its Straw-Palm-Tree Overhang …

He goes behind it, pulls a couple of beers from a fridge under the counter Wet Bar, pop’s the top’s,we toast.

” I’ll order some food, you can call your Mother. Please take a shower before we talk and eat. You’ll tell me more.? ”

We spend the rest of the weekend catching up on family history and our personal lives. I tell him a big chunk of mine and my family’s life. Two days later, he cuts my hair and I’ shave off the beard. 

He takes me shopping for all the necessity that I need to be out in public, as he put it. Over the next few days I start to feel like the me, I’ was after I had left the Army..

At the end of the week he asks me:

” Do you want to stay with Me’ for a while or leave .?

It would be No-problem. I would be happy to help you get back on your feet. Otherwise I’ll call Tia Socorro’ and have her pick you up or I can bring you over to her in Bayamon. . .

But know that she’s running a household, as your cousins, are still living home while they finish-off their senior college year; That situation may not be a good fit for you” .?

I’ humbly accept his offer..

A few weeks pass and I can’t believe how well I look for a borderline alcoholic / pothead. During those first few weeks, my mind started to defog.

The withdrawals are minuscule. I decided I would only drink socially.

Wanting to reconnect with other family members some I hadn’t seen since I was a boy, I reach out to my cousins Victor & Hilda who were born a year or two apart from me and Louie; so the bond was strong when we were together all those years ago in New York  City. I wanted to rekindle that bond . . .

One evening after dinner, Manny’ wants to have a talk,he starts by asking:

“Carlito how are you  feeling about your situation”?

I’m happy, why.?

“You’re not feeling like you want to go back to the Bronx”.?

No.!

Absolutely Not.!

I’m thinking: Certainly they haven’t not stop looking for me or Eddie, if they haven’t found him, it’s only been 3 weeks.?

If they have already found him, he’s dead.,  et.?

If they haven’t.? 

‘Then, they’re still looking for me too’ . . .

Manny:

” Great, I’m happy to hear that. . .

Let me ask you.

Have you given any thought to what you want to do.? 

‘If you’re planning on staying on in Puerto Rico .? ”

 I’ would like to look at some Job options?

Before I make the decision of staying on in Puerto Rico’ .?  .  .

As Manny, drifts back into the living room to answer the phone: I begin assessing my situation. Reflecting on where I’ve been and where I’ am’  …  Nothing was worse than my childhood; even the recent events of the last two and a-half years weren’t as bad. . .

Chapter: 5

 ‘ A New World, A New Terror  . . .

“The basis of optimism is sheer terror”

Mark Twain

Continuing to reflect on my life, the memory that still stay with me, was when at almost five years old, was, of Louie and I’ running-up and down along aisles of seats. Johnny wouldn’t  join us — even at Eight he was embarrassed.

That year brought so many firsts: Louie and I got our first pair of shoes. We rode in a car, on the  way to the Airport. We arrived at our new home in Miami —

It was as big as a  palace, with four separate rooms, a kitchen, a large bathroom with running water where we would bathe in a tub for the first time. Everything was new to our minds’ eyes.

My mother had never left her hometown or went farther than a few miles from where she grew up.

Except for when she gave birth to me in an apartment in Old San Juan that was on the corner of  La Calle Luna & La  Calle Sol. My father and my uncle brought her to the hospital after my birth.

It was the only time she had ever been at a hospital and the only time she had  ever left  the countryside. Both Johnny, Louie and my mother were all born on plantations with a midwife to assist in their births.

Having been living in Miami for almost a year. My father comes home one day, tells my mother that we were  headed to New York City.’ He had landed a new job, as a Sous Chef, at the Hilton Hotel on 6th Avenue.

We had heard the adults talk about this place. It sounded like it was a magical place to live. Maybe the beatings would stop if we were to go there to live.? little did we not’ realize that, a new terror, was waiting for us, In The “Magical City Of Glass   .  .  .

Manhattan

We drove up to New York City, that early autumn, moving into an apartment on 96th street off of Central Park West.

That first Christmas, I remember it being great. It was filled with lots of happiness, laughter and gifts. Relatives came and stay for days.That Christmas was the only Christmas that I can remember celebrating as a child.

That was the same Christmas that we met our fathers sons.Our half brothers,Juan and Manny. Arriving from the Dominican Republic.They were both tall, lean with dark tans. According to my mother both had been sickly.

She told  us that she spend  weeks nursing  them back to health. They spoke no English either.We were excited to have them. ‘Yes they would draw attention away from us we hope.?

We had been getting  beaten for the smallest of infractions.Whether because we would ask a question while he read the paper or ask to change the TV channel while he slept in front of the Television.

If we play too loudly; He uses a belt on us, with a large buckle. My mother rarely intervene during his rage. She was afraid for her own well being. ‘

About a week following that Christmas me and Louis were playing with one of our New Presents, a cut-out book with  scissor, crayons, number colored pencils, for activity for Four to Six year olds. .

While my mother had been cooking dinner in the kitchen,

We were in the living room and unsupervised, somehow I nip’ Louis with the scissor on his lip and drew blood. It trickles down his chin. It was minor he was laughing and so was I’. .

My mother comes out from the Kitchen  

to see  what it is that we’re doing and what’s so funny.? She at first went nuts screaming at me for doing this, but quickly realize that it was minor. She tells us that we must be careful.”

When my father gets home  that evening at dinner time, he walks into the kitchen (we’re all  sitting ) ..

He  sitting  down  and  joining  us. After a short time he notices Louis lip’ and ask my mother what had  happen to it? She tells him what we were doing and how it’s a more of a minor scratch. 

Without saying a word he gets up and walks over to where I’m sitting; punches me in the mouth, ( while I’ was chewing)

Hitting me hard enough to knock me off my chair, follow by a swift  kick to my stomach. As I lay on the floor, he drags me by my arm into the bedroom leaving me laying on the floor   . .

Yup’ That’ll teach me to play with scissors”..

When  Johnny is enroll in school a short time later, he’s gone most of the week. All I’ can say is that the beatings intensify thereafter. . .

We started to become terrified of our father. When he came home after work, we would hide under the bed’s. Staying out of his sight. Not heard, nor seen was the norm. .

As I said my Mom rarely intervene. I understood;  Intervene and get beaten yourself. Which in her defense I’d have to say, when she did the times that she did, he would beat her severely.

Chapter: 6

My-Americanization’

” How do we submit.? By being more radical enough. Or by not being thorough enough, which is the same.”

Wendell Berry.

We moved from East Harlem to Washington Avenue & 174th  Street in The Bronx. That January after I had turn Five.’I’m was enrolled in public School  P.s. 4.  

“My Americanization had begun.”

That  first year, not understanding what was on the blackboard, while trying grasp a new language, was next to impossible.With no one to instruct me on the nuances and proper use of the alphabet.

My  father never or rarely ever spoke English.There were very few Puerto Rican families that had yet to emigrate and create enclaves to network with, which meant fewer children of Puerto Rican descent in the neighborhood.

We  did not own a Television till  years late. So going to class where you were the only child who didn’t speak English. It was not easy.

Of course it was my fault according to my father even though he himself spoke only Spanglish, my mother zip! Yeah, you guessed it I got a beating for that. . .

That’ll teach you to not understand a language you never heard before!!

The  dyslexia was a bonus that had not kicked in at  full speed yet I would  see the words  in my mind’s eye, but could not write them down in a correct descending order.’ 

I had what  turn out to be an ass kicking case of Dyslexia. No one knew till I was diagnosed 15 years later. Needless to say, that I was just considered of being  just plain stupid. 

We continue to do poorly at school. I just didn’t get it, the words were always moving around in my  head.

I could not make them stop,to be able to read them no matter how hard I try. Verbally I knew the lessons, writing them down, I’ just couldn’t get them in the right order and make any kind of sense of them on paper. 

My ability to deal with academic failure would become highly developed by adulthood.

Louie was just as bad at math. I was good at history, science, But not understanding the 3 fucking “R’s.” At report card time was a definite beating day for both of us.

Grammar School, Jr. High, High school all three schools were a living hell.

A decade or more later after watching the movie “One flew over the cuckoo’s nest” I was able to compare my first grade teacher who was a racist.

The antagonist, ‘within the movie character  (“Nurse Ratched”)  who acted as nice as apple pie in  front of the authorities and patients  families, (in my case my parent’s ) ..

More vicious with her discipline with the wards patients, when no one could see or hear her…  You would think that having a Masters Degree in Education would at the minimal have given her some insight that; there’s an issue with this  6-year-old  ability to understand the English language.

He’s an “Immigrant” and only in the country’s school system  a year and a half!!. Obviously he doesn’t know what’s was going on, with the lesson plans, but it was easier for her to just say  “Your ’s just stupid.!  

When I fail a meaningless first grade test, she has my father come in and tell him that I made no effort to do better.. you guess it, I’d  be getting a beating when I got home or worst..

She would humiliate me in front of  the class at every opportunity and ‘yes she would hit me with a ruler across my hands or knucklehead me in the back of my skull’ or kick me in the shins! with my  father’s blessing,she was going to beat the smarts into me! …

This  type of  discipline went on  during most of my time at elementary school, for 4 years!  During the formative years of childhood development.. I’ learn to be violent to others.

In  Jr. High School starting in the 7th grade I’ refuse to let the teachers bully me any longer, and start hitting back, and hitting back “Harder”

Home, Was A Dangerous Place . . .

One night that I did not get a chance to finish dinner because I didn’t finish my homework. My mother makes me stop eating dinner and am told to go and finish my homework after I’m done, I’ ask my mother if I could  finish my dinner.?

My father hearing this and comes into the kitchen from the living room.

“You’ve already have eaten enough.”

I say to him: I didn’t  finish.?

“so you’re still, hungry.”?

Yes Dad, I didn’t finish. .

He tells me to sit on the floor in front of the stove and do so quickly which I do I do, then takes the pot of rice off the stove and puts it in front of me on the floor like I was a dog; 

“Eat what’s left in this pot, if you don’t finish it all I’ll beat you with the belt so that your mother will have to take you to the hospital from the ass wiping am going to give you for being hungry.”

The pot was one of those kettles  that you make enough rice in it to last a week or to feed 20,others, it was 80% full.

“ Eat it all or else” …

I sat on that floor and ate till I threw up in the kettle. For throwing up,  he made me  kneel on a  grader he kept  to punish us with,kneeling on it till my knees bled. At around midnight I pass out on the floor from exhaustion and pain. . .

My mother wakes me on the kitchen floor the next morning. My knees have dozens of pin size holes, with  my knee caps were cover in crusaded blood. I was told to go wash up get dressed and  ready for school …

Now off to school too face your tormentors!  . . .

He’ still beats me and Louie at every turn, during one of his beatings ( He Got Creative) when me and Louie were 8 and 10 years old now.

One night we were late coming up to dinner and we walk in expecting the usual beating but he said sit down and eat, after you’re both going take baths, then right to  bed. Yes sir’.. We ate while he fill the tub.

After dinner, were both to take our bath together when we’re done eating we would never protested.. We finish our dinner we both head to the bathroom get undress get in the tub.

A few minutes after we’re in he comes in with an electoral extension  cord, dips it in the bathtub water.We beg for mercy’ not to beat us that we’re sorry we were late.

it fell on deaf ears.. He  beat us till the skin peels off our backs, buttocks and arms…. Agonizing pain is an understatement…

That night as I cry myself to sleep,  all I do is hope and pray to “ God” for his death. God is deaf  … He’s was still alive in the morning.. He had not been to work in more than a year now so he was home all the time.

He’d  beat us more often and use  many different ways to beat us. Once he made me strip naked on the rooftop stairwell  landing; beat me with his favorite toy the white electrical cord. I ran past him down the stairs to the apartment..

He had lock the door so as to beat me at the front of it …

As I said my mom rarely intervene. I understood; intervene and get beaten yourself. Which in her defense  I’d have to say  when she did the times that she did  my father would beat her severely. Years later  I learn the why of his behavior.

Inexcusable as it was ”He was raging  alcoholic, that made him an abuser. Unable go back to work because of the drinking.

He takes early social security retirement. So much for  planning your retirement. life had made him bitter. Regret for maybe running off with our mother.? “Nothing but a coward.”

One morning during one of his rants before school. He had kick me in the back of the neck, as I had scrambled away on the floor from him. The reason.? Did he really need one.? At school that  late morning I was sent down to the nurse.

The Nurse sends me home with a note to take me to the hospital right away. My neck and head was turned to one side of my body; from a beating he had given me the day before.  I could not move or turn it forward. I was hospitalized for  two months till that Christmas morning.

One of the few times I was happy to be going home. He waited: A month before, he administer the next beating . . .

My half  brothers  moved  back to   Puerto  Rico after  2 year of  living with us, to be  with their mother. Who had finally “Immigrated to Puerto Rico’ that same year.

I don’t not remember a lot about my half brother Juan,he’ seem to be this person that came into our lives, the vanishing just as quickly as he had appear. He  never  really interacted with us much, that I can’ remember.

We saw him at my  father’s funeral some years later and we never saw him after that.What I learn of him as an adult; he was Math Professor in Tennessee or Kentucky some fucking where.

The last thing I had heard about him was, back in 1989 when I was visiting my cousins in Puerto Rico. That he’ had died, from a heart attack; but who knows.? He was maybe Twenty  years older than  me.  …

Post Note: They were never beaten when they lived with us:

‘ Fuck’em . . .

Chapter: 7

Rumor was that they fed them to the Three Foot Rats.

No one ever knew what had happen to his body-parts; No one cared.  . . .

Chapter 10:

The Streets & Harder Times.

“As I grew from a child  into a man I gave away my innocence to the streets,vanishing my childhood from my soul, I felt like an orphan: I miss that me’ since then”  . . .  

Carlito Monolo.

A week after my Father’s death Aunts,Uncles along with Manny, tell my mother they felt that:

“The  Children, would  be better off with them because she can’t support them.”

It would be in Her’ best interest too give them custody, if she declines. The State of New York will reward them custody. There’s nothing she can do about it.

To avert any legal challenge, she could not afford against them or the State Of New York.

They prepared to offer her “Two Hundred Dollars for her cooperation ” . .  I don’t know what she might had said to them but they were not cheerful about it when they left.

Two uncles and Manny show up at our apartment again a few weeks subsequently, one evening during dinner time, with a letter they handed it to my mother.

She can’t read a stitch, she hands it to Johnny. Reading it, explains to her what it said. It’s from family court and child protective services. It says they may take us from her.

Now  Johnny is maybe 17-year-old; he’s 6.ft tall athletic: he’s a member of one of the most feared gangs in the South Bronx. He’s the Warlord of a Gang call, The Horsemen”  .

There are two other gang members there at the apartment. My mother was feeding them dinner,  (she fed all the gang members of  The Horseman ) She said she was paying protection from not being rob or Mug. . .  Smart’ ….

They start out telling my mom they have been granted full custody of us by the court, they’re there to take us with them, their Insist’ve about it. Manny, instructs me and Louie go pack your suitcases.

‘Yeah, right away! . . .

It appears not to go easy for them at all.. Johnny takes the letter after reading it,rips it up and throws it in their face. Explains to them; they should leave if they value their lives…

A confrontation ensued.. What I recall is that both Uncles & Manny left running and bloody down the 6 floors of the building. My mother was not please that they were struck, she yells at my brother and his buddies the whole time, to quit hitting them.

Johnny said they “Swung first” ..

I’ didn’t believe it’ …

They had said they be back as they raced away. Sure enough they were just two nights afterward.

There’s banging at the door, it’s 2:AM in the morning:

” It’s the Police open the door, we have a court order to serve you with”.!

My mother had the prudence to prepare for this, had made preparations with friend’s down the block in case she had to protect me and Louie.

We knew the plan..

She gets us up,we get dressed and out onto the fire escape.

‘Being at the back of the building, of the six floor pay off. .

It was the quickest way for the two little kids to escape; to the rooftop, then over the connecting Buildings to her friends apartment. Down the block in under five minutes, at Two- a.m in the morning …

We dissolve into the night. Two days afterward she shows up at Carmela’s apartment where were staying. She carries with her two small suitcases. She informs us we headed to summer camp for three weeks.

Were each to go to different camps in case they try to track us. She had it all arranged with Saint Joseph Church on Tremont Ave.

When we got back from camp Three weeks later, she tells Us’ what has happen that we where now safe from being removed from our home.

Telling Manny “I’ve made arrangement with ‘ her sister Socorro to take full legal custody of us. If he wants them.?

He would be require to challenge their New York State Custody Court Order in Puerto Rico. Where they would inevitably lose. We never heard from my father’s family again …

In a city where no-one spoke Spanish outside the ghetto. I think the two expressions of English my Mother knew were expressions my brother Johnny taught her, they were  Fuck You’ and Fuck-Off. No spiky the English.

It did not matter we’ would all have to step up. We would not go hungry nor become dispossessed. We had experienced misfortune and hardship all our lives.But we still had each other . . .

‘ Things would be as they always were, just another stone in the road …

Chapter:11

The Streets Were Filled With God..

” Identify the dominant philosophy of a society

and you can predict its future”

… Ayn Rand

Growing up in a true ghetto setting; made the summer’s hotter in the South Bronx. When apartment, temperature’s were-110. degrees  Fahrenheit add to that humidity in the  90’s…

The streets where a welcoming-Bizarre. . .

The Street up-side was, Salsa Music that blared from everywhere. Congas, horns, hajos, timbales, metal drums, cowbells  played the sweet Salsa sounds of  the Caribbean Islands. We had  brought Puerto Rico to the Bronx, those early years of the, 40’s, 50’s and 60’s.

“Latino’s are sociable people friendly to boot. People hung-out on the fire escapes, or out the windows. Drinking beer, Cuba Libre’s on their stoops.

Bodegas, where our social gathering information centers. In front of one you’d be able to find out all you needed to know about almost anything . 

You could play a game of domino’s, numbers with a bookie. Find out where anyone, lived, worked, fuck, shot-up. Whatever it was; all you needed to do was walk up the block to one of the four bodegas.  

Someone knew about it or can tell you about, or who could can get it for you.? Add the street violence and vicious petty-rivalries and you had a front seat to a true crime-double-feature’. . . 

On hot muggy nights the Fire Hydrants were open up and down the Avenue to cool everyone off. Kids play games of  Johnny-on-the-pony. Ringo- levee-O.’ A game the bigger kids play was Manhunt.’

It would take hours to play one game of Manhunt, played within a five square block radius with 10’ kids.

To this day in 2020,  I hear it’s still being play upon Washington Avenue.’

The cops would come to close  them; as soon as they left they’d open them up again. They stop coming to close them after a while. From the rooftops some would throw, debris down at them.  . .  . 

One  night; witnessing a fight with some men on the corner. These two guys beat this One dude on crutches with a cinder block, over a $5.00 pot deal gone bad. Selling oregano’ as Chiba was very bad for your health.

( ” Chiba: was a Caribbean Grown Marijuana,” )

Living in the tenements was a reality horror Show or movie:

At bedtime,we had to deal with the rats crawling up-onto the beds.  

By covering-up from head to toe,so when they got on the bed you’d feel them crawling around on top of you.We would just shake them off then go right back to sleep.. 

It also help keep the cockroaches from getting into our ears or mouth. Kids who should had been afraid, we weren’t.

It was just,part of our living arrangements.,

There were so many cockroaches that when you sat down to eat dinner, they run over to your plate as you ate; trying to run off with the crumbs from the table.

Peeing in the middle of the night, was also a hassle, you’d have to go through the kitchen to get to the bathroom. You’d turn on the kitchen lights, like a horror movie the floor was moving, with thousand of these vile cockroaches, the color of excrement. . .

‘ Yeah, Peeing at night was such a hassle’. . .

One Saturday a month after coming home from camp, my mother wakes me early. She takes me over to the local gobble:

Greeting him

” Ola Don Carlos”  after exchanging pleasantries:

Hands the cobbler a $10.00  bill. He hands her a shoe-shine box, which she hands to me. Inside the box are two brushes a few different polishes everything a boy would need to shine shoes. 

I’m  excited, but very confuse why is she giving me this shoe shine box.? Who is it for.?

 As we leave she say: ” You’re all set now” 

She walks me over to  Third Avenue, beneath the 3rd Avenue El Train exit, at the corner of 146th street.

On that corner she say:  

” You will shine shoes on this corner from 9am till 2pm on Saturdays and Sundays. You will charge, 15 cents for shoes and 20 cent for boots.”

 I look at her with astonishment!..

What.?

Why do I’ have to shine shoes.?  “Somos  pobres”  (who knew)  that’s why. Don’t head home until  2pm. You’ll eat lunch then afterwards you can go out to play till it’s dinner time”. 

” Everyone has to work from now on or until I can find a way for you not to shine shoes,”

I ask; what about Louie and  Johnny..? “They both have jobs. Johnny told me he has a job at the C-Town  Supermarket. . . 

Louie is almost Nine years old so he’ll be working with me cleaning apartments. If  you want to live where we live now this is what you must do until I tell you; you don’t need to do it anymore.  

Do you  understand.?  

If you don’t do what I ask of you and you go off  to play instead of shining shoes I’ll know about it, it won’t be good  for you at all.” 

But I don’t know how to shine shoes.?

“You’ll learn, there are a few others boys who will be here soon watch them. Ask them  questions.  

You also must learn how to shine different shoes.You’ll get good at it and you will, and you better’..

“Believe you can do it” and it will be easier for you to learn”

She turns and walks away headed back to the tenement. . .  

In the summer of 1962. at the age of Ten- Half,  I had started my first job. 

That first day I watch the other kids, I’ tried my hand at it maybe twice with disastrous results that first day. Both men still paid me out of pity, the other man told me to learn to do something eles becouse I’suck!

So from 9: am till  2: pm.. I’ made .30 cent it was not” a good paid-day…

Getting home telling my mom, I was just not good at shining shoes. I’ Repeated this to her over and over as I cry.

“You’ll get better at it because you have no other choice, you must stand up for your family.

My Mother taught me: Tough Love along with persistence, determination, but most important perseverance.

She went on to tell me.

“In your life your body and mind may bent in ways you never thought possible.

The pain will be unbearable at times, but your mind will  be aware of the illusion.

You’ wont be made of steel, but you’ll be made of hardened emotional determination one day; by becoming one with your life.

Don’t be ashamed to expose your ignorance learn from it”   . . .

I’ was at it then next day. I did get better at it; She was right. Bye the end of that summer I was excellent at it. I build a customer base on the weekends.Shining a pair of shoes in under 15 minutes..

Making about $10.00 to $15.00 dollars on weekends, in Nickels,Dimes and Quarters! 

On Sundays, I learned about catching the church crowds from St. Joseph’s Roman Catholic Church on Bathgate off  Tremont Avenues.

The Nine : A.m. Mass was where you made the best tip’ money.

They felt the most blessed.

Then there’s The Ten A.m. Mass;

We’re good Roman Catholics we must go’..

You might get a Nickel tip, four-out of Ten times.

The least likely to tip’ you was the Eleven A.m. mass out at Noon . .

They  were the ones forced to go to church by family members..

They always wanted a discount. . . 

The most sinful of the Church goers were the Noon Mass goers, who exodus at 1 P.M. 

Leaving church they’d realizing they’re still in the ghetto. They’d  hurry back to their Gambling, Drinking, Lying, Cheating and just overall sinning till next Sunday.!

‘When all would be forgiven again, It’s a good deal for them .  . . .  

I’d shine shoes all year long, providing that it was not raining or too cold so, weather permitting .   . . .

I’d give my mother whatever money, I’d made. She would give me a Dollar to spend as I like. . . 

The following summer when I had gotten good at it, I headed Uptown to 42nd Street off Time Square or over to Broadway where the big money was. 

I’d stand in front of my shine box ‘screaming:

” Cheap shine only a dime.”

For the last push before heading back Uptown  . . .

At the end of the day, which was at about 3: p.m. . I’ would make $25.00 to $50.00 Dollars a day on either saturday-Sundays. She would still only give me, One Dollar. . Once in awhile, I get Two Dollars.  . . .   

My Mother was happier at home; That’s what matter most… 

I’ll shine shoes till I turn Thirteen. . . 

One afternoon Rocco’ the block Bully who lived in the adjoining building,.  His family is of Italian descent. One of the very  few remaining Italian families still living in the neighborhood..    

We’re all  10,11,12, 13-year-olds boys, Rocco’s is 15 years old. He took everyone’s candy or change, baseball cards whenever he felt like taking from Us’, or just hit you for the fuck of it.!!  He kept his secret as a bullier from the adults,as an altar-boy. . .  

He  hated  me… One Sunday afternoon returning home from midtown;   Rocco stops me and takes me off for the $17. 00  dollars I had made that day on Broadway..

Showing up broke I Tell my Mother what he had done. 

She and Johnny  bring me over to his  parents.. Johnny explains the consequence of what “Rocco had done, which he vigorously denies.

His father searches him, finds $12.00 of the money in his shoes. The father takes a five out of his wallet to make up the difference .. 

I  heard the beating was brutal.

It was better than being thrown off the rooftop. Johnny, promise them he would, throw Rocco off the roof, if the money wasn’t returned . . . 

Being 12 years old Rocco loved picking on me the most. After I had told on him. Everyday just about everyday that summer that he saw me. He bullies Me or us all, we’d tell our parents they tell his. It would stop for a week or two.

Then he’d be right back at it soon enough.. Most of us’ challenge him; but he always beat the shit out of whomever calls him out..

He looks like James Dean, a perfect clone..

After dinner one night I go to Johnny:

Johnny we’re constantly being bully bye Rocco. Can you do something  you’re our only hope man.?’ 

His advice could be dangerous and detrimental to a person’s health. More like you should have second thoughts about taking it . . .    

“Look, I can beat his little punk-ass, yeah he’ll stop. Your problem is, he’ll start up again as he always does.,

What you must do is gang-up on him and beat his ass yourselves.

That’s your only strategy to get him to stop, because you’re not matching his muscle. Since all of  you are 90 .lb weaklings. You will have to put more muscle into your arms”.

My brother’s advice was the worst thing you could have taken. To do so would have meant to either find yourself in prison or a contract on your head or being chased for Revenge

But it was always good to know that whatever he said you should try to do the opposite which was not to take his advice”.

Hey, these were crazy motherfuckers sociopaths! I believe my brother Johnny was a sociopath during that period of time;

Did it rubbed off onto me?  Yeah t did to some extent;

But not to that fucking crazy-Ass-extent.,

My personality could have been found in the DMs but not under those psychosis.!!

I, had more of an uncomplicated attitude, Fuck the bark it’s all about the bite, fear no one, Give No Quarter, and that was it.

How do, we do him?

” Follow  me”

We go into his bedroom from behind the door he brings out a Louisville-Slugger.

“After school tomorrow bring it down with you. Place it behind the buildings entrance- foyer door where you can grab it quick.

When he starts fucking with one of you guys tell  him to fuck off. He’ll  come at you; and get in your face.

When he’s in your face, make sure he’s close’ then suck punch him hard and run into the hall-way, he’ll chase you into the hallway you’ll have maybe 5 seconds head start.

You’ll be waiting for him to where you left the baseball bat. . When he’ enters beat his ass with it.’No  head shots, you don’t want to kill him” . . 

He goes on . . ,  

” He’ll stop fucking with you ’trust me on that. But he still might kick your ass. But he’ll never know, which’ one of you’ or all of you will retaliate the next time he fucks with one of you guys...

After school the next day I share the plan and “Johnny’ s ‘advice

The guys were all agreeable that we should gang-up on him but which of us would strike the first blow?

They agree but I’ should hit him with the bat first?

It was my Idea” 

If I said, No’?

How can I tell one of them to do  it.? 

We agree they would all have my back, If I’m overwhelmed they would jump in. . .

We plan on confronting Rocco the following day. . .

After school is let-out the following afternoon I rush home eat a quick snack, then go into Johnny’s room. Grabbing the bat, I head to the front door, having to walk through the kitchen.

My Mother say:

“Wait a minute, where are you going with that”.?   

To play stickball. ’

“Where at the Yankee Stadium.  

There isn’t a baseball park for miles.”  

We broke our stick-ball bat,so we’re using this instead.

Holding up the bat for her to inspect  . . . 

Looking at me with a tilted head & squinting eyes; she knew something was up.  

Before she can ask another question. I’-bolt-out the door.

She’s starts screaming in Spanish  ” Get back here now .!!  

Racing down to the lobby landing, I put the Louisvillie-Slugger behind the door.

We’re all waiting for him out in front of my building. I’m sweating, I’m nervous as hell. Hoping he’ doesn’t beat me with the bat.’

Rocco comes out from his next-door Apartment Building,seeing us gather in front of a car, facing the building entrance where the bat is waiting behind the doors ., 

Walk over to us:

A lucky strike-hangs from the corner of his mouth, perfectly combed  Pompadour, roll-up, white T-shirt a pack of  Lucky Strikes in the sleeve-roll. Jeans with roll-up, pants-cuffs, garrison belt, biker Boots. . . . . .  

Stops in front : . . .  

“What are you pussies waiting for.”?

I step off the car I’m leaning on and say

“You’re stupid fagot ass.’  . . .

His mouth hangs open in disbelief…

The lucky strike falls into the gutter.

Now, I’m scared.!!

leaning back against the car, sweat snails down my back as I break into a nervous stutter.  

“that’s that’s, that’s right you, you, heard me.

(Doing my best to keep from running.)

Hoping he’ leans down–into me before he hits me, he does’  .  .  . 

Leaning down into my face:

I’ coil my fist as tight as I could. I wait until he says:

” I’m going to’ kick your fucking ass.! ”  

As the last word comes out of his mouth:

I hit him with the hardest uppercut I can muster!  

‘It sends him reeling backwards, falling onto the sidewalk on his ass.

I’m running into the buildings hallway in a flash.

 ‘I think I took off, before he hit the sidewalk.’  

Within a few moment he’s bolted-upright; starts after me,

I’m waiting for him with the Louisville-Slugger’.

As he turns into the Inner-Hallway seconds later!

I’ swing hitting Rocco across his chest,as he stumbles backwards into the door frame I hit him in his right knee-cap he goes down, I then hit him across his back, as he’s down on one keen., …

I kept hitting him over & over across his arms and upper-body. . . 

Remembering Johnny had said:  

“No Head-shots, you don’t want to kill  him” Just scare the fuck-out-of-him, give; him a taste of his own medicine.”

‘He Manages to take the bat away from me..

Throwing it onto the outer hallway on to the street, starts beating me for about,Ten′ seconds with his fists, before turning and running towards the street exit. Leaping out onto the sidewalk, running-back into his building . . . 

As I come out of the building the guys are all screaming, high-Five-ing me, while  jumping-up-and-down! and patting me on the back  . . .

As the word travels in the hood, I’m a hero.!!

Rocco: stops bullying us .  .  .

Early fall brings a moving-van in front of his building . . .

His family leaves the neighborhood for good. . .  White Flight.?

Chapter:12  

1963

Fort Apache, The  Bronx.”

Part  Two: Gang  Member  . . . 

” These are the same men that call themselves Men of dignity, honor and respect, everyday they show they are men of none of these virtues. But men of deficiency of virtue and virtual is the mean between two accompanying vises that exist within a sphere.”

By 1963, The Bronx Neighborhood where I lived in was so crime ridden, settling scores emerged as a way of life; were enough cultural conflict and blistering contempt fuel the copious hated that strip your skin while brushing your hair Day-Glow-Red-With-Blood.

The Police were reluctant to wander too-far into several parts, day or night. I do remember the cop on the beat. “Joe the cop.”

He knew all the kids just about by name. Knowing our Dad’s and Mom’s;  when we did something we weren’t supposed to be doing our dad’s or mom’s would know about it soon enough.

He had spent a lot of his time chasing us’. . . One day he just stop coming around. Budget Cuts.?

Turning 13-teen brought with it a rite of passage becoming a  “Junior Scorpion.”  An offshoot of  The Senior Scorpions. The ruling Gang of that part of The Bronx…

The common denominator needed to become part of it was;

You were of  the same  ‘Cultural Bloodline. Initiated would be implemented early. It was what you did. Not joining meant you’d be looked at with suspicion, bringing constant harassment not joining you’d be the subject to an ass-kicking everyday they saw you.

Other family  members could not protect  you, “No one could.” You were expected to join at 13 years old, bye committed, too taking a blood oath:

Joining would teach you about surviving ‘your’re surroundings and environment. It would require you to be aware of the eminent possibility of violence, learning to know, what I would do, before it happened, ‘eliminated my fear of not living forever., ..  . . .

My initiation took place in the alley behind the building I lived at.

Twelve of the gang members would initiated me..

On initiation day they form a circle around me taking turns hitting me anywhere they want, with the exception of my  face and balls  for to 2 minutes.

The average time you’d get the shit kick out of you’ in a rumble. . .

They didn’t hold back, they had to see that you would be able to stand up to a beating at a gang  fight. At the 90 seconds mark, all Twelve of the gang would beat you at once.

If you cry or ask them to stop? Your face and balls would be open to strikes, resulting in being dropped from getting membership. 

After your initiation A senior member would cut you above your wrist. (At your forearm) then letting your blood run onto the colors of  your gang shirt.. 

I still bear that gash on my left forearm.

.  . . .

If  you chicken-out you’d  basically would have to move from the neighborhood. Even though Johnny was the “War Lord and a senior gang member for the Horsman.

I’d still get my ass kick and good; so joining was a good thing. Protection from other gangs, which you needed, no exception.’ Family members were exempt from being, mug, rob, harass, or even  killed.

I Instantly became privy to gangs secrets, and it’s criminal activities in the neighborhood. I learned our sister gang was the “Horseman.”  

This was only known to members..

The Bronx had the biggest membership during its peak in the early to the mid  60’s. I saw the emergence of The Young Lords, The Black Panthers, The Radical Weathermen Underground, Students For A Democratic Society.

Who came-up  in the late 60’S Among, other notable gangs that still  roam the streets to this day . . .

Junior High School  uptown on 184 Street, is where I’d come into my own as a gang member. On day one I knew, they weren’t going to be pleasant  at all.

On the first day the seniors beat up the 7th graders for being 7th Graders.’

I do not know what the deal with that was and still don’t.?  All I know was that it was some kind of  Hazing’ Tradition of some kind. Some schools,  whose students wore red on red shirt day, got their  asses  kick.

Kids were crazy in those days. Today they put you in jail for assault and you do time!. Then,’ it was okay for some reason.

Maybe it was an indication of things to come.?  Johnny put the word out that I was not to be fuck with for any reason. . . Unless you were looking for serious ass kicking from my blood’.  Johnny tells me that morning before leaving the apartment . . . .

“Groups of  9th  graders will  be  roaming  the  yard, beating up the 7th graders. After lunch leave the cafeteria go out the schools front doors. Head towards Tremont Avenue, just stay away from the yard area that’s  fenced in.

The door monitor is one of our guys he’ll let you out and back in after lunch. Stay out of the school yard, and away from the school grounds.”

The  7th Graders would be confined inside with nowhere to run… These kids were pouched out. Other 9th graders, will be on the street outside the fence on the sidewalk side waiting for 7th graders that managed to get out of the school building.

Pushing then hold them against the outside fence; So that 9th graders on the inside can kick the fence as hard as they could. It was fucking brutal man.

‘Welcome  to Jr. High School  kids.!

Rating on the other pupils was not an alternative… Some 7th grade students were told the same by a  brother or sister. Or don’t go to school on the first day of classes or the second day.? In  those  days you either grew up rough’ or had your ass kick offend.

I move up to the Eighth Grade: Johnny, went on to High School that year. Finally finishing the 9th grade. Held back in 7th  for not showing up for 4 1/2 months of that school year ..

My third month in the 8th grade during my 5th prior class; I’m very talkative, inviting a few of my classmates to a “Set”  ( Dance) for my upcoming 15th birthday. My teacher comes over to where I’m sitting down and orders me to stand up.

Gets in my face.

“Take the gum out of your mouth.”

As I bring my hand up to my mouth to dispose of  it. Before my hand is away from my mouth; I’m sucker “smacks” on the left side of my face with enough force that, I stumble backwards to the right side of the chair.

Going over the tabletop falling onto the kid seated next to me. Both of Us’ tumble onto the floor. I’m dazed  from the surprise hit to my face and fall.

Stun from the force he used.. As, I lay there confused for a brief moment. I become aware of the students shouting. ” Fight, Fight, kick  his  ass.!

Adrenaline rushes through my vines, as I regain my sense of place. I hoist myself  up with a chair, swiveling it around, grabbing it by it’s backrest . . .

He realizes quickly I’m going to strike him with it!!

As he begins to bring his right arm up to protect his face. The chair hits him with full force. Breaking his forearm with the  first blow, his arm crunches on impact . . .

Falling, howling in anguish like a little girl, while holding his arm on the floor. I take a few quick steps towards his right side,as he’s sitting on the floor.

I bringing the chair down on his skull. You can hear it crack open across the room. Blood gushes everywhere He’ screams in agony for help . . .  Which, he won’t be given from anybody in the classroom.

Being disliked, hated by most of the student body, known for hitting both females and males. I’ve given him a good, taste of his own disciple.

An ambulance takes him to a hospital. Police arrive, I’m handcuff, drag out of school. They charge me with Aggravated Assault and Felony Battery..

I spent a long weekend at a Juvenile Detention Center. Tuesday morning My legal Aid Attorney, at the arraignment states that” I’ was simply defending myself against a  6′ foot 225.Lb man by retaliating in self-defense.

The entire class was brought in as eyewitnesses, testifying to that effect.

I’m discharged, with a harsh warning …

At the school inquiry and examination of the incident and my suspension a week later,he continues to swears that I struck him first for no reason., His lawyer tries to say that it was a fact that,“The whole class lie.”

I just struck him without provocation;  My suspension hearing was dismissed. Two weeks after the bullshit inquiry he was fired. . .

My radical behavior and  failure at school, was due in part to the “Board of Education. My parents being just as culpable of my behavior; both help created-contributed to the environment of that violence.

The culture of violence of The South Bronx‘ Ooze’ from me with  it  . . .

Left alone by the student body. ( Most  of  the  time) Chaos filled any given day. Constant fights at lunchtime or in the hallways.Teachers were beaten, students where stab, pipe, shot. It was pretty hard to learn anything at all.

‘ I knew, I’d  get a great education . . .

No one would get left back for any reason ( Unless you don’t come to class for months) Teachers just wanted you to go through the system and get the fuck out of their fucking school. They all wanted to get home at night …

My  first  full-fledged gang fight would be during my second  year as gang member.

A War Council meeting was called. At the meeting we’re told, we were going to rumble,with a new gang from an area in the upper Bronx.

Who were trying to acquire new turf  near the school. There announcement of their presents was too beat one of our guys for wearing our colors through neutral turf that was still unclaimed by anyone at that point that we knew of   . . .

After walking his new girlfriend to her apartment .”Little Chino” wearing our colors is confronted by a group wearing  an unrecognizable emblem. Its leader, stops him telling him . . .

“You’re on our turf, so you need to take that shirt  off ”!

” I’ll be out of your turf, soon .”

“Yeah, but you still need to take it off. ‘ Now.! “

Refusing to take it off. . .

He’s  beaten, his colors rip off his body.

Our colors were white with a black emblem of a black Scorpion on white background with black trim. On a simple pullover lightweight “V” neck shirt.

The gang names across in black “Scorpions” under the Scorpion emblem… Yea, it was loud, it was meant to be.

The other gang was an  Irish startup  gang name  “Cum-hacht” which was ‘Gaelic for power”  with a with a green 4 leaf clover on a white background  with orange trim. They were an upstart, and they should have known better.,They were looking to make a name for themselves.

Which was fine except don’t start a fight with one of the biggest gangs in the whole Bronx..

Calling us out. bye telling Chino that we would not be able come into the neighborhood or go to school’ for any reason wearing colors on their turf that, weren’t theirs, would include the school grounds . . .

A meeting was called by the warlords to assess the situation and what would be done.? Recon’ first, how many members were they.? What were their strengths.? How much area did they control.? Who did they know.? Who would support them.?

Everything was plan like a military operation by the warlords.weapons would be assign, which met “Zip Guns’, if needed, otherwise, knives, bats, chains, iron pipes, brass knuckles and so on  ..

The heads of the gang would decide  whether or not to allow the gang from taking root. They’d shown that hey weren’t ready. Protocol on their part should had been enforced by the rules.

That was to make known to us, we broke the rules. By wearing colors  in turf they had claim. . .

The guilty party would be warned not to enter it again without permission when wearing their colors.Choosing to strike first.?  

Grieves mistake. . .

Kicking most of Chino’s teeth out of his mouth.?

‘ Fatal Mistake’ . . .

Chapter: 13 

1963: Fort Apache  The  Bronx.

Part  Three: Gang  Fight . . . 

Dear Readers . . .

Chapter:15

Fireball-Rat-Run . . . 

“Vengeance Sound so mean that’s why I prefer calling it returning the favor” 
Anonymous. . .

The Girl . . .

I get up the nerve to ask this, Unusual Beautiful Young Woman out on a Movie date, After an awkward  long 15: minutes. She won’t stop saying  “No.” to everything we can do together, insisting that she can’t date me.

My persistence pays off.

She agrees to meet me at the Candy/Soda Shop; the one down the block from the school. Her name is Minerva. Hitting it off we started seeing each other there regularly. After a month or so of this.

I press her about her not seeing me outside the school yard and Soda Shop . . .

‘I had, had enough Milkshakes’ . . .

“I want to hang out put my parents are very strict, you know what I mean.? That whole’ Puerto Rican cultural approval thing, about their Daughters. and who they can see.

That’s  why I can’t see you outside of school. Next year when I turn 17 teen that’s only Five months away. I’ll be able to start dating with my Father’s and Mother’s permission, after they have meant you and your family.”

‘Forget it, that’ll will never happen” . . .

Two weeks later I’m walking her home. She tells me . . . “My Father heard you have been walking  me home. He was asking around about you, It wasn’t good, what He’s heard. He told me, He’ doesn’t think he’  likes you.!

Pausing Seemingly upset . .

“You’re not allowed to walk me home. I’m not to talk to you anymore, date or hanging-out with you in anyway or for any reason my Father said:

He’s a Gang Member, a Thug, a Drug-Dealer, a Criminal “

All true at the time.

” His  Intentions are’ not virtuous.”

(Another Truth.!   . . .

I admit to none of  it . . .

How do you feel about that.?

Is It true what my father said about you.?

Just because, I don’t let anyone push me around  doesn’t make me all of  that. . .

“I think he’s overreacting. Of course, he’s just being a Dad”. . .

He is’ . . .

I’m in . . .

Two weeks later after convincing her to break all the rules her family had in place,we’re on a Saturday Night date to catch a movie. After the show is out I walk her home. Have a good-night- stairwell-make-out-session.

I head back to Washington Avenue. A few blocks down from where I had said goodnight to her. Out of nowhere come these bunch of guys, Stopping in front of me and form a semicircle around me.

An older-sounding guy, steps-up saying . . .

” Is your Name Cucho.? (street name)

Yeah what’s it to you’? . .

“We have to talk’. My name is Jorge. ( Points to some other kid) that’s my Brother Juan. Minerva is our Sister.”

I respond to him; Wow, you wake up to her every morning.?  Que suerte tienes.’. .

With a broad smirk on my face . . .

“I know you’re seeing my Sister on the slide. That’, has to stop. Get it.!!

You’ll stop seeing her immediately.”. . .

I ask him and why is that.?  We’re just acquaintances, what’s the big deal Bro; ?

Sarcastically, conveying  contempt . . .

“The big  deal, Bro.!!  Is.!

 Just  stay the fuck away from Minerva.!

My family doesn’t want you near or around her. If you don’t stay the fuck away we’re going to pummel your ass.!”

Being diplomatic as I can;  If she’ tells me, she will stop seeing ‘Me.?

That would be the only I’d stop seeing  her. . .

He sticks his index finger in my face . . .

“We’re going to fuck you up.! If you don’t do what I’m telling you.”

Then starts poking me with his index finger at my chests,to make his point . . .

I start to warn him, that, that would be immensely unhealthy for them. Before I could describe why.?  I’m sucker punch in the face,that knock-down to the pavement.

A moment later most of them start thumping the crap out of me. On the ground I’ cover my face and head, while they stomp, kick, punched me, all over.

Able to  get up-right, regaining my running ability, I run the fuck away.! Before they could bestow further injuries onto me.!

At the Emergency Room I’m Hospitalized with Two fractured cheekbones, Broken Nose, Two Black Eyes, Three Crack Ribs, Numerous Bruises. . .

” Yeah. . .  They gave me a good ass-kicking.! … I did not deserve that …

‘Oh well too bad.  .  .

Detectives interrogate me at my Hospital bed-side for all of 5 minutes . . .

“Who did this. We can not help you if you don’t tell us.? ” …

I  profess to them: An assortment of kindergartners attack me in the schoolyard. I was lucky to get away.  . .

“If we’re going to follow-up on this, and find who did this to you.? You need to tell us  who did.? “

I remain silent. . .

“Suit Yourself.” He replies with a stern demeanor. . .

Never heard from them again . . .

Two days later the Brothers find out that I’m a ranking member of The Scorpions. Now they’re alarmed, because they recognize what’s coming their way..

I’m told that, Minerva was pull from school,promptly sent back to Puerto Rico. They assumed I might retaliate, by harming her.?

A week later they send a family acquaintance to the Hospital Ward to apologize for the their misunderstanding and my mistaken ass-kicking . . .

The family friend is entirely an arrogant dick about it.

“You I should had known better. She was already promises to be married in Puerto Rico, when she finished High School next year’ Bla, Bla, Bla..

 A small detail which she never mentioned  . . .

I tell him: Go Fucking Home.!  While you’re “still not!  an Emergency-Room-Patient  here.!

Four months later, I started scouting for them . . .  I caught-up with  8, of them that had join in while I was on the floor. They got what I got and then some. . . The older brother got it the worst; I made certain of that. . .

Catching up with Jorge. We  force him into a car we had stolen. Blindfolding him, drove him  to a nearby abandoned Building Basement we used for illicit activities.. He’s restrain bye five of us, and tied to a chair.,

Breaking down crying he pleads, not to kill him. ( Which of  course we’re not.)  We torment him for about an hour, while we wait for Two of The Enforcers who might kill him?  . . .

When they join us he’s held him down;  his face is muzzled, his hands are already tied his feet bound. One of the Enforcers takes out of his trench-coat a “San-tel Pruning Shear. . .

It’s, one nasty, Motherfucking ‘Shear’ that’s use to cut 3’ inch branches . . .

They cut-off his Mother-Fucking right hand Index Finger, at the Knuckle. The blood shots out like a hose. As He utters a prolonged stressed dull cry of expressive agony as he squirms,with duct tape across his mouth .

We wrap his dirty blindfold around his hand, while he’s threaten, by the Enforcers.

“We will kill you and your whole ‘Fucking Family even that, Tasty Sister of yours, if  you give us up to the cops “. . .

‘He’s never been able to point again with that finger’ . . .

‘ That Finger.? . . . Rats Maybe.?

The younger Brother sent away the next day to-who-fucking-knows-where.? A message is sent to his family bye the enforcers. If he were to ever return to New York, they be waiting for him. . . 

‘One year from now, Five years  from now. He’s theirs . . .

The Dealer:

Johnny with his stolen auto parts business, buy car parts from the junkies, hawking them across Town. The condition of the Auto Parts was a consideration at  times. Most of  were moderate quality. . So they moved slowly.

Dealing pot was quicker money. I could make some $200.00 a month, but weed  sales were on the  decline  because  of the Heroin which  suck. ‘I was very  grateful  for the $200.00, a  sufficient  amount, that save us from becoming homeless …

Heroin was developing into the  New Big Boy In The Ghetto. An epidemics, true beginning of a people’s demise. . .

I didn’t  touch Heroin’ as a product that I could move, extremely risky  with much longer prison terms. Seeing two friends  tragically die from overdoses at arm’s length finding another with the homemade, eye-dropper hypodermic dangling from the still warp tourniquet arm; was more than enough to keep me the fuck away’.

Dealing  weed to improve our meager lifestyle, priceless’  . . .

While giving  my Mother a couple of  hundred dollars one morning she, ask . .

“Where is this money coming from.?  Since you gave up shoe shining Six months after turning fourteen.?

It’s my “Monthly pay”. . .

You know I’m a Stock Boy and Counter Clerk at Ray’s Bodega. I’m there, regularly doing a double shift. That’s why I usually don’t get home till midnight. .

I’ Immediately get the quizzical raised eyebrow . . .

“Ramon, it seems is paying you quite a lot of money for a Stock Boy and Counter Clark.?  If  you’re lying and are doing something you shouldn’t be doing and get yourself arrested for it .?

Pausing . . . Thinking of what she will say to me next:

“You realize you’re on your own.  There is No Bail’ to get you out.

As an afterthought she says.

“I won’t be making an appearance in a Courtroom either.” .  .  .

Nodding my head up and down at her acknowledging that, I’ knew the deal . . .

I asked my dealer; Muerto: (Death) if he, could fronted me some weight, a pound or two at most.? I had to help in producing revenue for the gang activities and for myself and home.,

“I’ll hook you up with customer deliveries first, to our uptown clients. I’ll ‘give you a  Hundred a week and a bonus if you hustle on deliveries. And bail-out for possession and a lawyer with your turnover of the product. Until you Prove yourself, then will talk weight.”

On one of my first weekends dropping of a pound, I have a real panic. When I’m almost busted on a delivery . . .

Getting off at the Mosholu Parkway Subway Station . I head towards the stair exit within the crowd, staying invisible was crucial while staying in plain sight. Starting down the exit staircase;

I’ realize there are Three cops standing at the bottom. An older looking man standing alongside one of them; the’ cops are pointing out men as they descend the stairs.

As two of them halt and pull aside suspected Black and Hispanic individuals.

If  I turn around and head back up.? They’ll notice.!   Fuck it, keep walking down . . .

Getting to the last of the landings just before the bottom of the stairs; I can hear the cops saying ..

“Is that him.”?

And he’s pointing directly at me. . ,

“Does he look like the ‘Mugger.?”

If  I’m stop and they say what’s in the sack.? I’m fuck. ‘

Nothing officer it’s just a pound of Panama Red, and the loaded Gun is for convincing  people not to take it away from me. ‘Hey, it’s a special delivery.!

The elderly man quickly say.

“No he’s too young” I can kick his ass.’!  . . .

‘Obviously Insulted . . .

I’m wave on by the Cops. I was shaking all over. If I had been stop and frisk, I’ would had done some serious time somewhere . . .

That should had been enough to make me find something more legitimate.? At almost Sixteen and one of  the essential supporters of the household.

Even if  it’s from dealing. Surely, what the fuck else would I do.? A job at McDonald’s.? Oh shit there weren’t any.’  A  Supermarket stock boy at Fifty cents an hour after School wasn’t going to do it. . .

How about “Go on welfare.?

‘Oops I did not qualify”..

Being arrested or killed, stabbed beaten on the street did in fact weigh heavy on my mind, all the time. Everyday I’ step out of our apartment, every day I’ was taking a chance on not making it back for supper; but to the morgue in a body bag.

Death followed me around every day, waiting for it’s turn . . .

The Hustle: Part One. . .

The only way for us to keep from being on the street homeless was for me and my Brothers to hustle any which way we could because there wasn’t any help coming from anyone, anytime or from anyplace.

Were poor living in poverty, unschooled, not worthy of the “American Dream”  living in the ghetto was a reminder of that factor . . .

Our family and society, had abandoned us at the time of the old man’s death, with relative’s and social injustice like that who needs enemies.?  The so call “Social Net” that was supposed to be in place was nothing but bull shit ..

So things went pretty much along those lines for us’,  but slowly my mother saved up enough of the money I had been giving her over the course of  a couple of years. She saved enough, to guess what? fucking move.!! The women was nuts.!! Two’ years  of saving $1, $2, $5, $10 dollars weekly.

She was getting less cleaning gigs to do, she starts Ironing shirts and that help but at ten cents a shirt she had to Iron a lot of  fucking shirts. Louie had taken over my shoe shining job but what he brought in was minimal.

City Hall should had put her in charge of the city budget,  at that time the city was talking about going into bankruptcy’ Mayor Robert Wagner, would had gotten Re-Elected …

My mother did not like where I was headed, she was tired of keeping me  Louie,  Johnny on a straighter path, not that she was tried just that she felt that she would lose the fight of keeping us out of  jail or the cemetery but she was close to losing it..

she was not going to have that, plus I got tired of her once in a while hitting me with the small bat. When I Disobey her she’d crack me with it.!

Hey we were very mischievous’..

And she was the dispenser of   discipline. She never remarried, when Johnny had asked her one day why doesn’t she Re-married, she said and I quote:

“Get Marry again .? Why, so that I’d have to cook, clean, do laundry, Iron, be beaten  abused verbally.

Told what to do. While they sit around, watching TV.? Eating, Farting  and getting Fat’  No thank you.! Twice in a lifetime was enough.”

We were so unaware of the world outside the Bronx, seriously unaware I mean unaware.  It was at least Two years after I turn 15,  before I realize people actually lived in their own  homes out in the suburbs.

We thought that was all made up for television. Our world was only as far as we could see from the rooftops.Anything farther than the Empire State Building or outside the outer  Boroughs did not exist at all …

The distance of the horizon from the rooftops of The Bronx was where our world ended. There was no reason to believe otherwise just like in the 14th century the world was truly flat to us. ‘

Never  going further than the skyscraper’s glow that oozed into the stars, becoming  part of the Universe’. . .

Spending a lot of times on the roof tops, hanging-out, target Practicing, Shooting Pigeons, and drinking pluck, (Thunderbird wine ) Smoking Pot and throwing shit off them.

It  was a favorite, pastime and place for daydreaming or escaping the reality of the ghetto.

 Fireball, Rat-Run . . .

We found a Cage like the one’s  used to  catch rabbits or small game, uptown somewhere. It was made of chicken  wire about 16” bye 10” with a  metal plate bottom and front  flap that tilts back to open.

It  became  used for a favorite  pastime: Catching Rats. We’d Set it up in the  building’s Basement. We baited it  with chicken legs.

The rats would ‘d crawl in, to eat the and fine  no-way-out.  Fireball Rat  Racing was born. It went  like this: We’d Set  up the cage trap the beginning of the week, way back  near  boiler room.

Four or Five  days  later  we’d go down,  to find, one or two,  sometimes maybe  three rats.’ Usually one or both would kill the other or each other. Hungry,  trapped for days their fucking, rabbit, squealing and shit. .  . . .

These rats were huge, cat size and full of anger, they hadn’t been fed, trapped for days . . .

Before we bring the cage up  to the roof. We’d  douse them with Gasoline in the  Buildings alleyway. (We did have sense enough not to set the building on fire by not’ dousing them on the roof.)

Once  on the roof we’d  put the cage on  the stone overhang, along the  building’s  edge, which  face a huge empty lot on one size. Now this was dangerous shit man. One false move you’d go over with  the fucking  Cage and rats.

We’d get the cage line up with the drop off ‘ edge; needing three of us, one to hold it, one to tilt back flap and one to light them up.!!

Just before the Lid is open we strike a book of matches, dropping it on top of  the cage.

Fumes would instantly ignite the rats. At the same moment  the lid was open, they run right out of the cage. Hurling into the  night air like Super-Rat-Fireballs. .

Seriously sick shit.! Neighborhood folk look forward to it, sick bastards. We were fucking nuts. . .  It was better and easier than the, ‘Cat’s. . .

Psychopathic or Sociopath Behavior, one or the other possibly.?

Chapter: 16. 

 ‘Conflict Zone . . .

Chapter: 18

L.S.D. 

He coolly turns to me. ” This sugar cube is not just some ordinary sugar cube, this sugar cube is going to change the world.” . . .

” Sometimes you make choices in life and sometimes choices make you .“

Gayle Forman . . .

Chiba gets arrested; goes on to serve Three years. Being pick-up on an outstanding warrant from a year earlier. Can’t remember for what.?

That same year the Gang begun to break up. I and Bucky continue hustling and waited for an early release for him from Elmira State Prison. . .

One afternoon me and Bucky were meeting in front of Mi Casita Vieja’ on Washington Ave, a small coffee shop we frequent”

He’s there first:

“Let’s go in’ have coffee.”

Sitting down at the counter orders a cup for himself. I ask for a class of water. He’ goes into his pocket out comes a Sugar Cube wrap in tin foil.

‘Bizarre behavior. . . 

Unwrapping it he drops it in the coffee, stirring it gently.

I’m like give me a fucking  break’ …

Smoking before we met-up’?

I  watch as he drinks this cup of coffee with the most deliberate manner  that I have ever witnessed, someone drinking a cup of coffee. . .

So’ I most ask him.. .

‘WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THE 

SUGAR AND COFFEE.’ !!

He coolly turns to me.

“This sugar cube is not just some ordinary sugar cube.  . . .

This sugar cube is going to change the world.”

I’m thinking OK; he has completely lost it.

I say really.? How’s that.?

“You will have to sample the coffee.”

Right away my mind said ‘NO FUCKING WAY’ …

Magic sugar.?

“Are you a Punk.? Are you.?”

No brother, I’m not,  ‘you’re just fucking nuts.

“Then finish this corner in the coffee cup.”

I just stare at him; back at the coffee. Twice,Three times . .

I lift the cup, throw it back.

‘OK what’s the deal.?

Taste like shit.?

“It has no taste, the coffee taste like shit .. Brother in about 20 minutes you will never be the same again you’re going on a trip.

I’m excited for you. That sugar cube was dip in something call  LSD 25 ” . . .

‘Never heard of it ‘ ..

‘We move on to talk about a hustle that involves providing assistance, (Cars and weapons) to a group of Men for 10% of their take plus their use of whatever services they provide ?. .

Twenty minutes later, I’m bored with waiting. It’s been a long day. I see through the Coffee Shop window the downtown Bus rolling towards us on Washington Ave . . .

Bucky: I’m headed back downtown, Mom’s cooking a favorite tonight.

‘ Raising my hand, I’ slap him ‘five. saying”

Let’s talk more about the 10%  tomorrow;  we should get 20%.?   . .   

‘Get help’ . . .

I’ sprint across the avenue; hopping on . . .

I had an awakening of some kind that night and just like that; I never saw Bucky or Chiba again. . .

I had left Fort Apache The Bronx, with ‘Great childhood memories’…

‘The trip was incredible ..

He’ was right. It did change my life; and the world.”  . . .

In the fall  of 2012: I’m introduced to a dude let’s call him’  “Jimmy”  while visiting an acquaintance who lives in a long Island Ghetto. She has a mouth like a sailor, delusional that she is beautiful and alluring to all men for some reason.?

She is at least 60 lbs plus, over her dress size. She grew up in an environment where her father owned a Strip Club dealt Coke / Heroin and other assorted drugs out of the Storefront.. She’ was a ‘Functioning Heroin User.

When I quiz her about her usage.? She denies it unequivocally (even though fresh track marks are evident on her arms and between her toes. A total fucking mess: sad.

Yes’ I still know people in the hood; even functioning heroin users’ …

Jimmy’ had learned from her: About me growing up in the South Bronx.

“Where in the South Bronx did you grow up,? “

Fort Apache on 174th. Street & Washington Avenue., 

“I had an uncle who grew up right where you did, maybe you knew him.? Or of him”.?

What’ was his name.?

“He’ went by the name of  Bucky” . . .

In a flash of excitement, I yell.  Yes.!  I did know him, we were good friends.!

Where is he now.? lives.? Did you know Chiba as well.? what had become of them.?

” I hate to bear sad news: My uncle Bucky died two years ago, summer of 2010. From a Brain- Aneurysm, while smoking a joint, drinking a beer on his Beach Chair at Orchard Beach” …

Sounds like a good way to go. . . .?

Chiba; was murdered some 10 years ago during a dope deal gone sour on Bathgate Avenue” Two months after serving, 7 Long Days. . .

We’ share some stories of Bucky and Chiba adventures and misfortunes ‘. .

I’ Hope you had a great trip Bucky..

My trip isn’t over yet’. . .

My Mother had anticipated  the demise of the neighborhood coming long before everyone else. ‘ More building were bursting into flames daily.” . . .

The junkie’ population was exploding. Gangs were being crackdown on; then dismantled by the Police.. There was less protection, more of the members were going away and not on holiday either.

Friends and their Families were fleeing for Puerto Rico, Yup’ they were going back. Or where headed farther uptown. As if a cancer was permeating from the center . . .

Within a couple of  years of us leaving almost 60% of the Buildings  in the  South Bronx would be skeleton shells ..

She didn’t want to be one of the last. It was like “Puerto Rican Flight.! So she headed to the lower South Bronx. Change the  environment  change the outcome. Nothing positive was left here; but the death of everything.  . . .

Moving to 161st Street off of  Melrose Avenue; which still had decent  apartments with affordable rents. More of a Middle Class Neighborhood feel, but it wouldn’t  last..

It had now been practically a year since we had moved from 174th street.  My mother decided  to move again.! . . .  Moving to Melrose Ave, and 159th Street.

Giving School officials a reason to expel me for punching out my 11 Grade teacher for calling me a “Spic.” I’m transfer to another school  district  closer to where I lived, where I could provoke more pandemonium.!

I hated fucking school and justly so.

At the end of that last school year’ I was ordered ‘ not’ to come to graduation or the prom. I was an evil seed and a troublemaker..  

As it turn out at Graduation, there were Two stabbing.

One faculty member was beaten. A shootout between two rival Gangs. Two wounded one kill, all together 5 incidents.

“So much for their policy of keeping troublemakers and bad seeds  from attending Graduation Prom..

School is out.!

July had come scorching in. . .  By now I had dropped out of the Gang with easy; but for a few hardcore members it was over. . . A new crop of gangs would soon surface.

With names like “The Savage Skulls, Black Spades,  Ghetto Brothers, Viceroys and last but not least The Turbans. They were consistently into it with each other. . .

Chapter:19

The Departed. . .

“Wrong dose not ceases to be unjustified because the majority share in it.”  

Anonymous. . .  

The rest of that summer we’re smoking reefer and dealing Rorer 714’s. Drinking pluck and breaking night and just screwing with people.

One afternoon we’re sitting on the side of the building off  Melrose Ave; when 6 black guys are riding their bikes past us. Their from two  blocks up on 157 street.

Red and Dead-eye what to screw with them so they call them racist names.That they live down the block doesn’t save them.

Because just like that scene in that movie The Bronx Tale, four of them spring from the stoop; running up to them as they rode by the third or fourth time beat them with Fist, stick-ball bats and empty metal garbage cans. . .

They batter the shit out of them…  Five minutes later they’re on the stoop laughing and reminiscing, while I scream at  them “You’re fucking racist.”

The old timers hanging out at the corner in front of the Bodega consuming their Schaefer beers and playing dominoes. Stop to call them criminals and wimps, dumb-asses.!

They’re like: Fuck you.!

We don’t what those fuckers on our block; and so on…

It isn’t long before we see a “Mob” of about 20 to 30 of their friends running right towards us;  Mothers, Kid’s, Fathers  the hole dam block was  now chasing  after us’ and they all have some kind of  bat’ or waving  Knives, Chains’ above  their  heads.

I think even furniture; they sound angry as hell… The sole thing do.?  ‘

Is to run away from them.! 

They chase us  for at  least 3 to 4 blocks before we melt into the rear alleys of the neighborhood…

A few days later were back on the stoop. We’re  harassed  by the old timers.”  Yelling  at  us’ you’re all a bunch of punks they drove you off your block; “Your own Block.!! That went on for weeks during that summer…

So; after being humiliated you think, we’ would never consider attacking the neighbors again.?

Yes’ we would. . . We did not discriminate

A month later, after being run off our own block:  We’re sitting on the same Fire escape outcrop, on 159th Street.

It’s Two: in the morning, blasted from smoking pot and  drinking, Mad Dog 20/20, Thunderbird, with an assortment of other liquids….

Some of the last remaining group of  White Kid’s from a few blocks over on Park Ave; are strolling past us on the opposite side of the street, and they are minding their own business.

We’re  assholes pretty much and often. As they walk passed us on the other side of the street. . .  Someone suggested something to one of the girls, she replied with  you’re a bunch of blockheads or something minor as that . . .

We have a dirty mouth.

Her ass comes into discussion and  the size of her Tit’s..

At which time one guy with them answer to our opinions

“Ass-holes Fuck you, blah, blah, blah . . .

Dead-eye answers with:

“I’ll  Fuck her in front of your Mother, and so on…

A foot race ensues: Chasing them as far as 164 Street and Park’ where they run into one of the few Single Family type homes that are still standing in the neighborhood.

During the foot-chase “one of the girl takes a tumble with her face; they were wearing high Heels and should not been running and maybe we should have not been chasing them either. The last of the guys makes it inside; as we run up to the front of the house,

We waited for the three Girls to join them inside first; having ran pass them during the chase. . .

Standing outside and mocking them to come out and fight for about 2 minutes…

The shotgun blast…

Rip’s through the front glass door and into two of the guys torso. they were standing outside the picket fence entrance and are only hit with, what turnout to be Squirrel Shot or something like that.

The cops take Us’ all in for assault and harassment. They drop the charges against us and We’ against them….

Fall is coming…

My best friend, and partner in crime Johnny-c, that I spent the last two years on the street with, just received his draft notice..

” Carlito I just got my draft notice I’m going to go down and ‘volunteer for the draft”  next week.

My brother told me that, that way you’ get the benefits of enlisting which are a lot more than if you’re drafted.!

Come with  me to the recruiting office and we’ll both join the Army in the bubby system.?

You’re going to get drafted soon yourself anyway.? “

Deadpanning him I don’t know what to say to that at that moment.?

The thought never crossed my mind , what did was that, it wasn’t a good idea to join the Army during a war? 

Maybe I wasn’t as patriotic as I should have been?

I was already being shot at on the streets, of course the advantage in a war zone was that I get to shoot back, but I do shoot back here’… I don’t see a clear advantage””

I tell him I’ll give it some thought? ” Laughing ” I say: But I’d first will need to evaluate where I’m at other than on the street..

A week later when he’s ready to go down.

“So what are your plans Carlito?”

I won’t be volunteering, I’m going to  wait until a draft notice come’s before I volunteer brother.”

 That summer he volunteers for the draft, looking for adventure, he asked to be sent to Vietnam…

He doesn’t die in the jungles of Vietnam after two tours and a chest full of medals, a mean-ass case of jungle rot, exposed to Agent Orange his body raging from disease, an addicted to China-White’ heroin as a plus ..

Two tours later, he’s back in the South Bronx, just waiting to die from it all. .

He does die’s on its streets. Shot point-blank with a double-barrel sawed-off shotgun, bye a fifteen-year-old junkie he was scoring from. . 

I missed my friend for a long time.. ‘he was only 21 years old, he had a short one . .

‘In late October I go meet the army recruiter about the letter I had received in September. 

The recruiter tells me if  I volunteer for the draft, It’ gets me  two years in the regular army, same as being recruited with the benefits of enlisting ..

Most guys who depart with me don’t come back . .

Not on their own anyway. .

But in body bags. .

I’ll never be the same . . .

I’ and Mercedes breakup when she goes off to college across the country …  She never comes back to the neighborhood after graduating, who could blame her’ . . .

Two Years Later:

On the next-to-last-day in the Army before I’m on my way to the Bronx, but before I’m free of my nightmare.

I must check-in with the company First Sergeant who closes his office door cuffs himself to a pole; ask me to strike him so that I can be sent to Fort Leavenworth for 20′. .  ” No Shit’ . . .

I’m sent to see a Master-Sergeant. who’s the Base recruiter. (Yea right) Located in a small none script structure on the post.

I strolling over towards the building.

On the way there, I’m thinking I just might make it out . . . of here’ . .

I enter, I look around the room. . .

The Sergeant is standing by the window, silent and motionless. . .

As if reliving his glorious past. . .

He’s built like a Max-Truck, a flat top haircut  piercing ice blue eyes a square jawline a face like a bulldog  6’6” weighing 250 Lbs plus’ a starch uniform; it’s creases could cut your hand.

He’ looks like he’s been in every war since the revolutionary war.

The walls are covered in re-enlistment posters illustrating the marvels of re-upping’ for the rest of your existence. I’m depressed just by looking at the walls. I’ come to attention in the front of the desk:

Specialist 4th-class reporting:

He’ doesn’t tell me to at-easy, so I stay at attention..

The one thing that stands out the most is over on an opposite wall.

‘Why it’s a “Confederate Flag” A nameplate hangs; mid-way down, it reads:

“Honored to be from Alabama”…

He turns around and walks over to his desk sits down; I hand him my file while still at attention. He opens it looks over it.

I swear he’s not reading any of it.? . .

looks up at me and says . . .

“I’ve previously read your file and you belong in a shit hole somewhere not in this Man’s Army, you Spic”…  end quote’

Someone informed him I was coming bye.?

I reply:

Yes, I did refuse a direct order to shot civilians, I just didn’t have it in me to execute all those Women and Children.

Master-Sergeant:

“THEY WERE ‘VIET-CONG”!!!

It turned-out that they weren’t, but he decided not to mention it., 

I went on:

‘That kilo,of Marijuana in my tent was for personal use not for distribution, as I was charged with and acquitted of that charge  . . .

I continue pleading my cause. . .

Please, If given one more chance I’ll commit; to re-upping for 5 to 10 years. Even grow into a lifer like yourself.?

Pleading in an almost crying tone of Voice…

I’d do a better job at killing all the women and children they want. 

‘I Mean it!!

Please let me re-enlist, please’’ I want to kill.!!

Signing off on my file without looking up; throws it at me. His coils hands are tightly wound into fists;

With an exploding violent red face, he Screams’ in an angered voice. .

“GET OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY OFFICE.!! “

You degenerate Spic / piece of shit.”

As an afterthought..?  . . .  I’m sure . .

I think he might have been heard in the barracks.?. .

Having a bad day and it looking like, he hated not being able to re-up everyone.?

It had to be that.? It could not be that he was a racist.?

I head to the P.X. for some last minute shopping . . .

 That night I pre-pack my duffel bag with all my uniforms, and all things army’  leaving out my chives in a pack Carry-on for a quick exit off Base, in the morning. The next day I go to sign out. I’m done in 30 minutes.

To demonstrate my acknowledgment for the wonderful prep talk the day before! Too show, how this new Veteran, that just served 2 years of his life for his country, watching his buddies die in a shit hole in Asia, how I felt about being call:

“A Degenerate Spic and a piece of Shit.”

Let’s not forget, “Not good enough to belong in ” This Man’s Army.”

My favorite Quote . . .

I’ve  prepared a small thank you; if you could call it that…

On the way off Base after singing out,ending a two year nightmare. 

I Take a quick detour towards the “Parade field

(where they hold the military ceremonies)

I walking to about the center of the field. I dump the contents of the duffle bag. I open my carry-on, take out the item; I had brought with the cigarettes the night before at the P.X.

A Big Can Of “Lighter Fluid”

I spray-pour and spray it all over everything Army; throwing the lighter fluid Can on top of the pile .. Strike a match, it’s time to leave…

At the gate signing-out; I’ hear fire engines. .

I turn to the sergeant[at-arms., There must be a Fire, somewhere’…

I’m ready go home after two years of searching for Immortality in a War Zone’ while living in a hell .  .  .

Chapter 20::

December, 1968

The Bronx is Burning

”Thought no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new end..”

Anonymous:  

Home’ after two years of ducking and playing in the jungle; one day I’m in the Swamps the next day I’m flying into San Francisco.

Two days afterward, I’m in The Bronx’. . . My mother welcomes me home. She’s happy, but she’s filled with  astonishment I’ve made it back alive. . .

I only wrote to her twice, which I’m certain was in illegible for anyone to read. Since my reading and handwriting skills were very modest at best when I left . .

Sleeping for a few days, getting up to eat, bathroom. I have not slept without a rifle in 18 months; the feeling is strange without it.

Sleeping was strange..

The nightmares and cold sweats have not appeared yet.  It will be another 6 months before they kick in at maximum throttle. My mind doesn’t perceive its home. I’m restless as hell.

I lie low; I don’t leave the apartment  for roughly the Winter Months. Staying close; just short walks to the Bodega that’s it.  Till spring breaks …

Few people realized I’m back…  A transformation had taken place in my mind..

I no longer wanted to be the individual I was before..

I had felt a different me’ was emerging. . .

‘But it won’t last.,

It  would be a new challenge that would be complicated to surmount because of my environment. I want to start to grasp how to read and Write and progress to develop my skills, which were at about a Ninth Grade status.  I recognize; while I was gone that  If  I’ was to establish myself and get out of The Bronx;

I’ would have to master more then Basic academic skills.,

Having found my way back to The South Bronx neighborhood: “Nothing  changed for the better; but for the worst …

A portion of all buildings are burnout,in the upper and lower South Bronx. People would set tenements they lived in on fire.! So they be able to move into the New Projects that were going up on Webster Ave. . . Sort of  like:

“Jumping into the fire from the frying pan ”  . . .

I can see that the infection of Washington Ave has appeared to increase here fast. It’s not a positive signal, it’s only been two years. I had missed the anarchists of  68’. . .

Most prominently  “The Detroit Riots.” Standing on a street intersection of The South Bronx you would expect they happen here.?

All my eyes met was, what look like a World War Two Landscape’… There was nothing but vacant lots’ or discarded and uninhabited buildings as far as you could see up & down some avenues to their horizons..

“Historical records show that In  1967 the continued presence of American troops increased further and a total of 475,000 were serving in Vietnam and the peace rallies were multiplying as the number of protesters against the war increased.

Muhammad Ali was stripped of his boxing world championship for refusing to be inducted into the US Army.

In the middle east Israel also went to war with Syria, Egypt and Jordan in the six day war and when it was over Israel controlled and occupied a lot more territory than before the war.

Once again in the summer cities throughout America exploded in rioting and looting. The worst being in Detroit on July 23rd where 7000 national Guard were brought in to restore law and order on the streets.

In England a new type of model became a fashion sensation by the name of Twiggy and mini skirts continued to get shorter and even more popular with a short lived fashion being paper clothing.

During that year new Discotheques and singles bars appeared across cities around the world and the Beatles continued to reign supreme with the release of “SGT. Peppers Lonely Heart Club Band” album.

That year also coined the summer of love when young teenagers got friendly and smoked pot and grooved to the music of “The Grateful Dead.

Jefferson Airplane and The Byrd’s”. The movie industry moved with the times and produced movies that would appeal to this younger audience including

“The Graduate” Bonnie and Clyde” and “Cool Hand Luke.”TV shows included “The Fugitive” and “The Monkeys” and color television sets become popular as the price comes down and more programmed are made in color.

Not to be outdone in 1968 In both Europe and America Japanese imported cars and other goods were continuing to rise and trouble the governments of UK and USA as they worried about industries in their own countries being affected and jobs lost.

In the spring of 1968 on 4th April The Rev Martin Luther King was assassinated.

Robert Kennedy was mortally wounded when he is shot by Sirhan Sirhan.

The peace movement had continued to grow and more and more Americans were against the war in Vietnam, and once again more riots occurred throughout cities in America.

The music scene was once again set by the “Beatles” and the “Rolling Stones”, and fashion flirted with see through blouses and midis and maxis skirts joined the Mini Skirt as part of the fashion trends.

There is a Flu Pandemic in Hong Kong and the first Black power salute is seen on Television worldwide during an Olympics medal ceremony…

Cultural shock is an understatement. My head is totally fucked up with what is going on around me and the world…

All the rules were different from the rules of the ghetto. I would have to learn the rules of residing in a Society with different rules than the rules I understood and the rules that prevailed in my life . .

I had missed a lot during my absence: I needed to catch up with it all. Two months  after being home; Louie joins the Marine corp. I hope that, that would be a positive thing for him.

A chance to get his act together and just, maybe since he had been acting strange maybe,needing emotional help?

I spend the spring months job hunting; I find out I’m able to collect unemployment for my time in the Army.

I get a whopping $40.00 Dollars a week in my pocket for beer and weed. . .

I start looking up friends.
An abundance of the guys are either serving time or are on a perpetual diet of dope. Stealing, Arm Robbery. Mugging people on the Grand concourses.

Yea things haven’t changed much, just more doping and crime …

Can’t find many of them. The ones I do reach up with; I’ can not have a one-on-one conversation with them about anything but, who do I’ know? Where I’ can score? to celebrate my returned home…

Doesn’t help…

I finally run into my friend Moe. . aka: Red’
He’s one of the few White red-haired Irishman left in a Puerto Rican & Black Ghetto. We get a Six Pack, head over to the park to catch-up on everybody’s misfortunes…

Red tells me that most of the guys’ have tuner to smack and robbing the 3rd Ave El for the tokens; which they moved at a 50% discount.

Some were looking at “Life starches or 10 to 15 year terms. The others still had not gotten into robbing the neighbors yet..  ‘That  would come later.

Red and I, are two of the dozen that are still not in lock-up or absorbed in criminal activities or drug transactions.

The others that are still around and not in prison yet’ are the Two’ Billy’s, Johnny.C his brother Frank, Paley, Foggy, Apache, Dave and of courses Dead-eye.

Dead-eye had lost his left Eye in a High School Gang Fight. Poke in the eye with an ice pick; never wore an eye a patch to cover-up the scramble eye. . . When I ask, he simply said . .

“I’m scarier without it” . . .

It was saddening to learn about everyone’s faith. Guys I had grown up with were either dead or serving time. Everyone else was striving to exist.

Red and I’ started  hanging out on Friday & Saturday nights. Hustling at the uptown Pool Halls. Red a serious pool shark who racks the tables on the unsuspecting White kids uptown.

We frequently went to different pool halls. We bet heavy; after losing a few games of pool. They now think he’ can’t shoot for shit. . .

They demand bigger bets . . .

Then he’d run the table on them for the next 5 games. . .

We’d had to run out of the Bars,once they realize Red’ was hustling them. . .Always having to hit someone with a pool stick to make it out the front door is how we’ ended the game. . .

A short time later Red’ starts  dealing, Up’s, Down’s, and Aspirins as Rorer 714’s.
Anything he could do to make some money.

This became the end game that would eventually end his life . . .