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<![CDATA[ (RSS 2.0)]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/ RSS feed of en-us sBLOG 0.5.1 Beta (Build 20050402) Wed, 01 Sep 2010 23:46:25 GMT Thu, 02 Sep 2010 00:19:44 GMT <![CDATA[The Gangster Writer]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=76

Ron Chepesiuk is well versed in the arts of street knowledge. This Canadian born and internationally educated scholar has jumped into the true crime genre and pumped out books about drug lords and gangsters like Lil' Wayne pumps out hits. Ron Chepesiuk is certified platinum, tackling and taking on black gangster street legends like Bumpy Johnson, Frank Matthews and Nicky Barnes while at the same time debunking the myths of bullshitters like Frank Lucas. With his well researched and investigated stories Ron Chepesiuk is to true crime books what Nas is to the hip-hop world- a lyrical poet who traverses in words that have meaning and scope, examining issues which are at once relevant and concise, demanding and precise- in both a popular culture, historical and scholastic context. Forget all thoses tired ass Mafia books you've been reading and check out Ron Chepesiuk's work on the black gangsters of America, especially his latest offering- Sergeant Smack. You know we keep it 100 percent official here at gorillaconvict.com so here is the Ron Chepesiuk interview. We sat down with the gangster writer of the moment to see where he's been, where he's going and what's good right now.

When and why did you first start writing about black gangsters?

My book, Drug Lords: The Rise and Fall of the Cali Cartel, which I published in 2002, was my first true crime book and I really enjoyed the writing experience. I wanted to do another true crime book and was looking for a subject. I am a big fan of the so called Blaxploitation movies of the 1970s—you know, the genre with titles like Shaft, Superfly and Black Caesar. Many of them were set in Harlem. I wanted to read a good but true book about the gangster era in Harlem of the 1960s and early 1970s but couldn’t find one. I did some research and learned about such big-time gangsters of Harlem as Caspar Holstein, the numbers king, Bumpy Johnson, Frank Matthews, Robert Stepeney, Nicky Barnes, Goldfinger, the Black Dutch Schultz, Zack Robinson and I knew there was a book to be written. That resulted in my first book on Black crime—Gangsters of Harlem.

What is your background and where are you from?

I have a background that’s given me the type of experience I need to research and write about true crime. I am a Canadian by birth from Thunder Bay up in the frozen tundra where wearing three pair of socks in the winter is considered normal. I grew up poor in a tough multiethnic neighborhood that maybe included more than 50 nationalities. So I’m use to taking care of myself and dealing with people of all types of backgrounds. I was the first kid in my family to go to college. I earned a Master’s degree in library science from the predominantly Black school, Clark-Atlanta University and a post graduate diploma in archival science from the National University of Ireland in Dublin, Ireland. I worked as a University professor at a southern university for several years before becoming a freelance writer. I already had published 15 or 16 books, mainly academic in nature, and at least 3500 freelance magazine and newspaper articles, before I decided to pursue my dream of being a fulltime freelance writer (see www.ronchepesiuk.com.) I’ve reported from close to 40 countries and met my Colombian wife on one those trips when I missed a plane. On another trip to Cuba I was detained by Cuban security and given 48 hours to get out of the country. I got out in 24. I live in small, sleepy southern town, but write true crime books about drug lords and gangsters in far off places like Colombia and Thailand and in the gangland of the inner city. Go figure but I love it. I’d say life has been a continuous adrenalin rush.

What documentaries have you appeared on and how have you talked about?

I serve as a consultant to the History Channel´s ¨Gangland¨ series and has been interviewed by NBC´s Dateline, the Biography Channel’s “Mobsters”, The Discovery Channel’s “Undercover” and Black Entertainment Television´s ¨American Gangster¨ I‘ve talked mostly about black organized crime. I imagine that as I continue my research there will be other gigs, given the huge interest in true crime.

What did you think about the Frank Lucas American Gangster movie and all the hoopla?

I didn’t think much of the movie. If you know nothing about the real Frank Lucas then the movie can be entertaining. But the movie is supposed to be based on a true story. So it was really quite amazing to see how the hoopla unfolded and Lucas was able to pimp his bogus story. Talk to former gangsters from era in which Lucas operated in and they will tell you Lucas is full of shit. I have done extensive research on Luca’s life and his relationship to Ike Atkinson, who appears as the character Nate in “American Gangster," and I would say about 80 percent of the life story Lucas has presented is a lie. Now his autobiography has come out and he has three versions of his life: the New York magazine article that got him the movie deal, the movie itself and now his autobiography. Each of them contradicts the others and is full of holes.

Here in a nutshell is the truth garnered from my research. Lucas was not Bumpy Johnson’s right hand man. Ike Atkinson, not Frank Lucas, pioneered the Asian heroin pipeline to the U.S. Lucas worked with the Italian American mafia contrary to what the movie and he claims. There was no smuggling of heroin in coffins and/or the cadavers of American servicemen who died in Vietnam. Lucas was big snitch who turned in his fellow gangsters and not cops. When Hollywood, the media and Denzel Washington are all pimping a movie, it’s pretty hard to combat the myths they create. But my new book, Sergeant Smack (www.ikeatkinsonkingpin.com, I think, does that.

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How did you get involved with the Sergeant Smack story?

Ironically, Frank Lucas led me to Ike Atkinson. I had interviewed him twice for my book Gangsters of Harlem. The book has a chapter on him. In the interview he kept referring to his “cousin” Ike and how he helped him to set up the Asian drug connection. I had heard of Ike but did not know too much about him. I did a search and found he has been prison for nearly 31 continuous years. He had not given an interview during that period. Not a good sign for a journalist. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to anybody. But I wrote the prison where he was incarcerate, requesting an interview with Ike. They passed the message on to him. Fortunately, I mentioned in my letter some of the things Lucas was saying about him. Ike was curious and agreed to the interview. We did another prison interview. I learned that Lucas was not Ike’s cousin as Lucas claimed and that most of what Lucas said about his relationship with Ike was bullshit. Ike and I developed a close relationship and continued to work together on his biography when he got out of jail in 2007.

How do you do your research?

After I decide on a topic for a book, I gather all the background material I can on the subject.—books, articles transcripts, etc. by going to the Internet and library and talking to sources. I like to include a lot of historical background in my books to give the reader perspective. For instance, I have a lot of info in my Sergeant Smack book about what was going on in Southeast Asia when Ike arrived in Bangkok in 1966. I hope there are a lot of court records available. They are a rich source of information. I absorb that material and develop a list of the questions I will want to ask sources. I also develop a working outline for the book. I develop a list of sources to interview. Then I go out and find them. It’s very important to find good sources to interview. I think quotes enliven the text. When I’m about 30 percent into researching a book, I start writing and revising. I write very quickly. It usually takes 6 or 7 months to finish a book

Would you say your writing is your passion or your job?

It has to be a passion, given the economics of book publishing today. It’s very tough to make living solely by writing books, especially true crime books, unless they make the big screen. Your visitors may be surprised to learn that I can make more money writing articles. A 3,000 or 4,000 word articles can pay $5,000 or more. Today, that’s more than the average advance given an author who is writing a 100,000 word book. So I love what I do and will continue doing it as long as I feel that way. Life is too short.

What are you working on now?

Where should I start? My plate is quite full. We are starting to get nibbles about film rights for Sergeant Smack (www.ikeatkinsaonkingpin) and we are sorting them out. I’m halfway through a book about “Queenpins,” famous woman gangsters, which should come out early next year. I’ve just been commissioned to write a bio of Robert Stepeney, the so called “Godfather of Harlem, which I hope to have done by next April. I plan to restart my Frank Matthews project soon. I’m co-starting my own publishing company, Strategic Media Books, and we will be soliciting for manuscripts for a series of books we are publishing, titled Gangster Chronicles. I’m only really happy when I see a life full of possibilities. To stand the French philosopher Rene Descarte’s famous saying on its head—I work therefore I am.

What other writers do you admire in the black gangster genre?

There are some real good writers out there. I recently read Mara Shalhoup’s BMF: The Rise and fall of Big Meech. It’s a real good book and I can’t wait for the movie. Ethan Brown’s Queen Reigns Supreme is also good read, as is Tom Folsom’s Mr. Untouchable. As far as the Black gangster genre goes, to they are one shot wonders. I hope these authors come out with more books in the genre. I also like Seth Ferranti’s books. I think it’s amazing what he does from where he’s located. I’ve learned from these writers and will continue to learn. But I don’t limit my reading to true crime. I read both great and popular writers to learn and enrich my life as much as I can. For instance, right now I’m re-reading Ernest Hemingway’s collected short stories because I love his style. I also read a lot of John Grisham to lean how to writer cinematically.

Do you think this genre can be as successful as the mafia and Colombian cartel books that came before it?

Oh, yes, the genre is just getting started. There are still so many good stories about Black gangsters out here begging to be written. Look at Robert Stepeney. He was one of the most powerful gangsters of the late 1960s and 1970s when the black gangster was asserting himself but Stepeney was low key and is little known. These stories need to be written. They are a part of African American history and the country’s history. So they should be written with the historical perspective in mind and not just about the sensational aspects of the criminal scene. Publishing needs to move on from the mafia and Colombian cartels. After all, how many more books need to be written about Al Capone, John Gotti and Pablo Escobar?

To read an excerpt from Sergeant Smack go to www.ikeatkinsonkingpin.com

Check out Street Legends Volumes 1 and 2

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"Have you ever watched American Gangster on BET? Author Seth "Soul Man" Ferranti brings American Gangster from BET to the books in Street Legends. He chronicles the six most feared and respected gangsters who live by the creed death before dishonor." Rawsistaz Reviewers

"Ferranti continues to intrigue us with the most infamous O.G.'s and their unfathomable street life. With Vol. 2 he wins again with a solid page turner." The Source Magazine

"Seth brings the harsh reality of America's narco-history to a new generation, introducing them to iconic names such as the Boobie Boys, Short North Posse, Peanut King, Michael Fray and Frank Matthews." Hip-Hop Weekly

"Gorilla Convict is evolving into the most potent voice of the streets. Street Legends is the apple of a street soldier's eye." Walter "King Tut" Johnson, NYC Original Gangster

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 plus shipping & handling or request it at a bookstore near you.

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"Incarcerated author Seth Ferranti has compiled a who's who of the late 20th Century's most infamous kingpins in Street Legends, a compendium series documenting crack-era America's criminal enterprises. Ferranti has fashioned a rogues' gallery of drug lords that is as compelling as it is concise. This is a must read for true-crime enthusiasts." Harold Rodriguez, Smooth Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"Street legends is aptly named as it details the lives of six of the most notorious black gangstas in American history. The stories will leave you in awe- this shit is so real it reads just like a timeless gangsta flick. The book was on point from cover to cover." DaRevew.com

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 plus shipping & handling or request it at a bookstore near you.

ORDER PRISON STORIES TODAY

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As the Short North Posse members did their time in federal prison they watched as the unrighteous made money and fame off their blood. With the release of Let That Be the Reason and the founding of Triple Crown Publications Vickie Stringer turned her life around after five years of prison and became rich and famous. After snitching on everybody she knew or even heard of in Columbus including her own brother, because she couldn't take the weight and do the time for her own crimes, Vickie Stringer was sentenced to five years in the feds. She wrote her book in prison but conveniently left out the part that she was one of the biggest snitches in Columbus’ history.

Fridge says on the matter, “I’ll acknowledge the facts, but we’re not rappers. Real niggas don’t broadcast their business. Yeah, she bogus, yeah, he bogus, but that’s all I got to say. A warning to all those who may come into contact with so and so, but that’s it. That’s how real niggas operate. I’m gonna be who I am. I slay dragons not talk them to death. Nobody cares about a grown ass man, which is what I am. They want to worship hot niggas and shit. I say let them have it. Niggas like us need to worry about one thing and that’s gathering real niggas. Connecting game on a boss level and wiping clean what you can. As for the Vickie thing. Yes, she is a rat. But she is not the only one. She’s a liar, but she’s not the only one. She tried to bury my nigga P.C. on this case. Vickie was a mule and a hustler, bitch wasn’t no boss. But like all rats they can make their own story up. What about Timmy and Terry Thomas’s rat-asses? June Dotson’s rat-ass? Bookie Burger, Grandpa, George Gladden, Andy Jackson, fat-ass Quinton Clausell (May he rot in pieces) and a whole lot of them and they are one. No different. People still listen to T.I. and he got the homie in Cincinnati 66 years to life. Rat! I’m saying hate all rats equally, not just the successful ones. Fuck all of ‘em.”

Vickie Stringer got busted in September 1994 and agreed to plead guilty and testify against others, even her brother, in exchange for reduced charges, The Columbus Dispatch reported. “Stringer’s information was found to be accurate and was corroborated by other confidential cooperating sources and independent investigation,” authorities said. It doesn’t get much clearer than that. “Everyone at the crib our own age knows what the deal is with her,” Rah says. But people in other cities don’t. They are steadily reading and supporting her and Triple Crown Publishing as if they are the epitome of the gangster lifestyle their books portray. When in reality the real gangsters, that she snitched on, are sitting in the penitentiary while she profits off their stories. Imagine how the dudes from the Short North Posse case felt doing decades of their lives in the pen, as the person who caused their case to come about rocketed to hood rich and street star status off of their blood.

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On January 17, 2002, the appeals court ruled that SNP members could not get their prison sentences reduced a second time. So that was it, the gig was up. Appeal Judges Guy Cole, Karen Nelson Moore and John O’Meara decided one sentence reduction was enough. “It’s well known that we were not a threat to the university or our hood,” Fridge says. “We’re old school, we respected the turf. Yet they still caved in our little community, but there are reasons behind this that blacks aren’t looking at. It’s as easy as killing three birds with one stone. In the Clinton years he was responsible for the cleanup of NAFTA. All the factory jobs were pouring out of the country, but many of those jobs were replaced with prison industries, especially in rural areas. Blacks fill up those prisons, so here you have it. You indict whole neighborhoods of black males that are getting a little money, make them face doing life or telling on everyone they know, which causes a split in the unity forever.”

As the years have passed the area the SNP once considered their territory has changed dramatically. “Some real estate agencies and investors were interested in that area. $100 million was invested in that area. They had to devalue the property, create a high crime area,” Shorty says. “Since they got the SNP out of the way property values went up. It’s called gentrification. The legacy of the SNP is that of a group of young black men who were negatively exploited by the Department of Justice due to real estate and commercial interests.” So who are the real gangsters? “Look around,” Fridge says. “Projects are being destroyed left and right. The trap I grew up in has trees and gates and shit and at the bottom of the Short is $100,000 to $300,000 condos with more to come.”

In Columbus there was a big buzz after the prosecutions. “They were saying shit like they saved the Short North area from urban terrorism.” Shorty relates. “That’s some bullshit, the Posse was about their business but it wasn't any different than what went down in other hoods.” In reality was the neighborhood saved with the SNP convictions or were the SNP just a convenient group of young black males to take the fall so gentrification could occur? Being unconstitutionally locked down for a case that should have stayed on the state level. We will probably never find out for sure, but still we must salute the eight dudes that took the feds to trial and stood up. The Short North Posse are Columbus, Ohio street legends and their story has gone down in the chronicles of gangster lore.

“Recognize that real street niggas get their props from the turf when they really handle their business,” Fridge says. “Rappers seek that kind of fame not us.” And during his years in prison Fridge has attempted to take the high road. “By a chance meeting I met my man Dr. Guy Fisher.” Fridge says. “Guy showed me how to reclaim my righteous mind back. I was a straight savage and proud of it. But I’ve always been skilled in sports and arts and through his influence and hard work and love for young gangsters he helped me turn all my negatives into positives. Most young hoodlums are good guys without nurturing. Hard work is in us, loyalty is in us. He showed me by example how to produce good works that can affect change in my life and others through achievement and now I help others accomplish the same thing. That’s what’s up.” Street legends can change too, there’s no crime in that.

Check out the rest of this story and more in Street Legends Vol. 2.

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Lamont "Big Fridge" Needum is no stranger to controversy. As one of the main members of Columbus, Ohio's Short North Posse his notoriety is well known and detailed in countless newspaper articles as well as his Feds Magazine interview. But pushing that to the side we now take a look at his first novel, Straight Savage, which details the Posse's exploits, fictionally of course. Check out what Fridge has to say.

When did you first get into writing and why?

I got into writing in '98 when I was in the hole for a long time for getting in a suckers ass. I hadn't read adult fiction before, only non-fiction things. I ran across Eric Jerome Dickey's first book and it blew my mind. It was black and slightly profound. It was OUR story and because I'd only read books from writers like Alex Haley, Mac B. Morant, Chancellor Williams, etc., it was all new to me. But I felt as if the Street Nigga was never represented in these books. So that’s what started me on the path.

What is Straight Savage about?

Straight Savage is about a plethora of issues that we (Street Niggas) are presented with. Some of the books I've read based on the streets are more verisimilitudinous than fact driven. Kilos don't fall from the sky. We don't like kids being in the game, even though you're through being a kid in the inner city by 12 & 13. We are not haters of justice, and so on. I wanted to juxtapose the way the mainstream media depicts us. To show that it gets much worse than what they show, and also that we are much better than what THEY think is our best. That we love our black women, children, and even our gay community because they are our family members as well, and I also wanted to dispel some of that down-low bullshit that Oprah and every other black-chic mag' was trying to shove down our throats. Who better to write about real street shit than a real Street Nigga who was in every form of the trenches you can come up with? I was there when it was $25 off a $100 in 86-87. I was there when the homie's Moms started smokin' and so on. That’s why the book is so real. Because its real stories and cases and different people's points of views of the game. I've asked my brother why he started smokin'. I've asked homies that I looked up to all my life how they got fucked up when I was on the cut with them at 3:00 A.M in the snow drinking 151 trying to stay warm and business was slow. I gave up the real. That’s what Straight Savage is about, the real, Uncut Funk.

How did Short Side Publishing come about?

I created Short Side Publishing after I received a demo-contract from
Plutonium Publishing. He was going to give me my first book deal. I didn't like what the contract said because I'm my own man and I know what I'm worth, so after that I shopped around for a deal and got one and half other looks and didn't like something about those situations. I know what it was. I'm self made. Always have been. And I'm a former artist, so I'm very particular about how my work is presented. I designed the book cover, the flyers, the web site (it sucks but it works). I'm in total control now. But not to lose focus, after I had put my foot in my mouth I had to prove to myself that I'm still a boss even if it’s just the boss of me. I met my man Seth Ferranti and he encouraged me to keep going, sharing his information and connects. And since my clique was tight on the street I presented my co-defendant with a full plan on ShortSide Publishing, and he became the feet, and I became the head and the product. See, when you were really about your work in the streets, its hard not to believe in your Ace because you KNOW what he's hitting for. That’s the definition of the saying "the game don't stop just 'cause a playa gets knocked."

What were your inspirations to write?

Number one, I got another gang story to tell (smile). Number two, The Feds have drug my good name through the dirt. Soiled it. I will not let my personal history or my niggas’ history be told by some fake ass suit and tie wearing bitches without putting our four cents in. And number three, I will not waste a perfectly good 27 year bid on sports and television, and chasing fags and whatever other bullshit dudes do in jail if they are not working to better themselves.

Describe your book, how can you decide where to go? How did you come up with that?

Like I said before, Straight Savage is a raw uncut look at the streets. But the way I come up with my books is simple. I'm writing my way UP. I don't really dig writing stuff like Straight Savage because I'm more mature than that. I no longer endorse all the things I used to endorse. But I have to tell the tales that I know because a writer has to write what he knows, and when he doesn't, it shows.

www.shortsidepublishing.com

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends Vol. 1

Prison Stories is the hottest prison book of Y2K10, taking over where "In the Belly of the Beast" and Hothouse took off. Check out what the book reviewers of the major magazine are saying -

"Plenty of blood is shed in this intense record of the harsh realities of the penal system." - Smooth Magazine

"Prison Stories outlaw rawness mixes well with hip-hop's street essence. Fans of Iceberg Slim's pimp tales or HBO's 'OZ' series will really dig this." - Elemental Magazine

"Prison Stories reveals a world of fearless convicts, inconspicuous snitches and deadly gang rivalry." - The Ave Magazine

"An episode of 'OZ' couldn't capture prison drama the way Soul Man does in Prison Stories." - Don Diva Magazine

Find out for yourself by ordering the seminal prison book of this decade. Take a journey behind the walls and experience convict life and culture through Soul Man's stories and insights. You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 plus shipping & handling or request it at a bookstore near you.

]]> Fri, 02 Jul 2010 16:35:43 GMT http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/comments.php?id=74 ]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=74 <![CDATA[Warden M.R. by Robert Rosso]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=73

December 6, 2000. I was standing in the lieutenant's office inside of USP Leavenworth, hands cuffed behind my back. From the waist down my pants were splattered with the victim's blood, his skin embedded on the tips of my steel-toe boot's. Dusty and I had just gotten through assaulting RM in the chow hall, and the staff members surrounding me weren't to happy about it.

A wild-eyed man who I'd never seen before stepped forward. "Just who'n the hell do you think you are?" he asked me, his southern draw consistent with a person from Arkansas. He was in his mid to late fifties with short strawberry-blonde hair that was neatly parted on the side. For some reason, he reminded me of a cross between former president Jimmy Carter and Adolph Hitler.

I ignored him and looked away.

"What's the matter, Punk?" he said to me. "You to stupid to talk?"
"Punk?" I said, surprised to hear him use such a blatant penitentiary insult. "Just because you have on a suit and tie doesn't give you the right to talk to me anyway you want, asshole. Go fuck yourself."

A slow devious grin began to form on his face. Without taking his eyes off of me, he asked asked Lt. S if he knew who I was.

"Yes, sir. I do," Lt. S said. "Inmate Rosso is a Dirty White Boy."

I almost told Lt. S that he was a dumbass; I was not a member of the DWB's. But instead, I just said, "You don't have a clue. I'm not in a prison gang."

"He's lying," Lt. S shot back. "Dusty is on record as being a Dirty White Boy and he and Rosso are close. There's no doubt in my mind that the assault on Marks was gang related."

I rolled my eyes, amazed that the BOP would promote a schmuck like Lt. S to the an. position of lieutenant. Dusty was not on record as being a member of the Dirty White Boys, he was on record as being a member of the Nazi Low Riders, a California-based prison gang that was in no way affiliated with the DWBs. And the reason we left RM unconscious and laying in a pool of blood had nothing to do with a gang hit, it was a personal matter. But I wasn't about to tell him that.

"This one's a real smartass, aint he?" The man standing in front of me said, watching my facial expression. "Alright, tough guy. Let's see your patch."

He wanted to see my gang tattoo or insignia, which I didn't have. "I told you, I'm not in a gang."

What happened next totally blew my mind. The crazy bastard reached out, grabbed my collar and ripped my shirt open."

"What the fuck are doing?" I cried out, taking a step back. "Where's your patch?" the man demanded.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” I said, I’m not in a gang.”

Shirt pulled back around my arms, one of the officer’s behind me said that I didn’t have any gang tattoo’s on my back.

“Do you want me to uncuff him so we can have him strip, sir?” Lt. S asked.

The man said no. “What I want you to do is get all of the Dirty White Boys rounded up and locked down until we get to the bottom of this shit.” His evil eyes peered back at me. Then he said, “Do you know who I am?”

“No, and I don’t give a fuck,” were my exact words.

He edged in a little closer so that our noses were nearly touching. “Oh, you will give a fuck by the time I’m through with you,” he assured me.

The door opened and SIS Officer A poked his head in. “Excuse me, Warden,” He said to the man standing in front of me.

My heart sank. I couldn’t believe the asshole was our new warden.

“I still got Dusty out in the hallway,” Officer A informed him. “Did you need to see him or should I take him to the SHU?”

“You keep Dusty right there until I get through with this knucklehead,” he instructed Officer A. Turning back to me he said, “In case you ain’t figured it out yet, punk, I’m the new warden in town. And you and your buddy just did something that I absolutely do not tolerate, you two assaulted a man in my chow hall.”

He continued. “So know this, Rosso...I’m about to put it in you nice and slow. And by the time I get through burying my shaft all the way in you, you’ll never forget my name.”

And that’s how I met Warden M.R.

For assaulting RM, Dusty and I received 30 days in the hole and loss of privileges (telephone, commissary, visitation). But that was only the beginning of it. Per request of Warden M.R. we were both ordered to remain in the Special Housing Unit (i.e. SHU or Hole) for an extended period of 18 months, provided that we remained clear conduct. Well, that was a joke, one look at our jacket’s and any person could see that wasn’t going to happen. And I’m sure that M.R. was well aware of our total disregard for institutional rules and regulations, so basically he had us in the hole INDEFINITELY.

Little did he know we didn’t give a fuck.

People that have never been to prison have a tendency to believe that the hole is some dark, lonely place where troublesome inmates go to suffer. While I’m sure that may have been true years ago and I guess even today in some prison systems in the United States that may still be the case. The truth is more often than not, the hole is a great place to hang out and party and that was especially true in Leavenworth. In fact, when Dusty and I hit RM we both had our asses packed with partyables (heroin, tobacco, syringes), and once we got inside, thanks to a little help from our friends, we rounded up enough material to put up three gallons of hooch. Within 72 hours the wine was ready to consume and that’s basically how guys in the hole at Leavenworth lived- drunk and stoned.

When M.R. figured out that the hole in Leavenworth was not some house of horrors but rather a fun house, he ordered a massive shakedown of the building. For three days straight staff members went from range to range taking prisoners out of our cells, placing us in rec' cages and confiscating our property. Our personal items were "bagged and tagged" then placed in the in the property room with the rest of our personal belongings. Our wine-making material (fruit, sugar, and plastic trash bags), makeshift heavy bags (large punching bags made from old magazines, books, torn bed sheets, blankets, vinyl mattress coverings) and homemade chairs (plastic meal trays stacked four high and bound together with newspaper and sheets) were all trashed. X-ray machines were then brought in to examine our pillows and mattresses for contraband, and all bed linen was exchanged. By the time they were finished, we were left with nothing but our thoughts. M.R. then went-about changing years of policy (not to mention ignored the law) by forbidding all inmates in the Special Housing Units (there were three in Leavenworth) from possessing radios, newspapers, magazines, and periodicals of any kind; two books per cell is all that we were allowed. And rather than release inmates from the SHU early to help ease the perpetual overcrowding problem, such as they had been doing for years, M.R. not only made everyone do day-for-day, but even started housing guys three and even four to a cell, cells that were designed for two people. Needless to say, we weren't too thrilled about it.

But M.R.'s dream of rebuilding Auschwitz in Leavenworth was short lived, thanks to the second and third generation correctional officer's who worked in the prison. They were a clannish bunch that didn't give a damn who the warden was or what he or she had to say - they ran things how they saw fit. And that included letting the convict's in the hole do whatever we pleased, just as long as we didn't bother them.

Things got back to normal in no time.

Every Wednesday in the federal Bureau of Prisons the Department Heads in each joint are required to do a walk-thru of their Special Housing Units. In my opinion, Wednesday was M.R.'s favorite day of the week. Unlike most Wardens who basically do a run-thru of the process without interacting with the inmates, M.R. always took his sweet time, stopping in front of each and every cell so he could take a good long look at his captives. But don't get his actions confused with somebody who cared. The more miserable an inmate appeared to be, the happier M.R. seemed to get. And he especially loved it when a guy would argue with him. He had no problem calling people bitches and punks, and it wasn't beyond him to talk bad about someone’s mother. That's why every time he came by our cell, me and Dusty would just smile and tell him that we were doing great; it really seemed to piss him off.

In the Spring of 2001, members and associates of the California Bloods and the Dirty White Boys were all housed on A-200 range Dusty and I included. The place was off the hook. The non-stop flow of hooch coupled with easy-to- obtain prescription pain pills led to some wild times which often resulted in floods, fights, and fires. Although M.R. would storm down the range on Wednesday's ranting and raving about all of the fun and chaos that was taking place on the range, there wasn't much he could do about it. If he threatened us we would just laugh in his face. If he ordered a shakedown, the hacks, who made no secret about their ill-feelings toward him, would only come in our cells, toss our stuff around, and not take anything of importance - specifically, our wine. So basically, his idle threats were a joke.

But then came the night of June 12, 2001. Or should I say, the night all hell broke loose on A-200 range and all of the fun games came to a screeching halt.

An all day drinking party led to a verbal confrontation with the range officer and the SHU Lt. which led to all of the Dirty White Boys and their associates to hold our evening meal dinner trays, hard plastic items that are collected after each meal because they can be melted down and turned into lethal weapons. The result, rather a than bring us all a carton of Buglar Brand rolling tobacco like we demanded, sixteen drunken fools got gassed, shot with non-lethal rubber bullets, beat, hog-tied, and dragged out of our cells. For more than eight hours, dozens of officers dressed in full riot gear did whatever it took to retrieve the food trays and punish us for fucking around. When the were finished, we were all stripped butt-naked, allowed to put on a t-shirt, a pair of boxers and some socks, then returned to our cells in ambulatory-restraints - cells that were completely empty except for two mattresses.

The following morning our cell door rolled open and in walked SHU Lt. Odem, a nurse and Warden M.R. Dusty was on the bottom bunk barely awake; I was lying on a mattress on the floor severely hung over. Both of us were shackled in chains.

"Two of my officer's had to go to the hospital last night," M.R. informed us. "Do you two assholes know what this means?"

"Yeah," I said. "It means that the use of excessive force isn't always the right answer. They should have just given us the tobacco like we asked. "
Dusty laughed. "I think our constitutional right's have been violated. Nurse, can you get the ACLU on the horn and tell them we need help?"

M.R. looked furious. "You boys think this is some kind of joke? A bunch of fun and games? Well, I like to have a little fun sometimes myself - and I sure do know how to play games."

If he could have gotten away with it, there's no doubt in my mind that M.R. would have had us waterboarded and flogged. But since he couldn't, his Evilness opted to keep us chained in restraints for 72 hours - that's 72 hours in ankle-chains and handcuffs that were attached to a belly-chain. And in case you've never been in that situation, eating is nearly impossible, showering totally out of the question, and when you go to the bathroom and try to wipe your ass, the skin around your wrists and waist tears.

When the three days of torture were over, everyone that was involved in the incident was separated and moved off of the tier, with the exception of me and Dusty. For reasons unknown, we were left in the same cell. But that was short lived. The following Wednesday when M.R. was making his rounds he saw me and Dusty together and blew a gasket. He didn't just scream at the range officer and demand that we be separated immediately, he actually took part in the cell move himself - something wardens just don't do.

On the morning of July 3, 2001 I woke up ate breakfast, worked out in my cell, strained a gallon of wine, showered, then snorted a paper of white heroin. I was on single-cell status, had plenty of tobacco and wine, and I managed to come up with a small, one-speaker radio that jammed. Life in the hole was good for Robert J. Rosso.

By 9:30am I was feeling like a million bucks. With a cup of wine in one hand and a cigarette burning in the other, I was up on my feet dancing and singing and having a grand old time. As the song came to an end, I slammed down the cup of tasty hooch, let out a loud burp, then just as I turned back towards the sink for a refill, I saw a mans face staring back at me. There, on the other side of my cell-door window, was M.R. Because I was already busted anyway, I just went ahead and refilled my cup then took a good, long, hard drag off my cigarette. "What's up Warden?" I said, with smoke rolling out of my mouth.

His only response was, "I've got something for you Rosso." And then he was gone.

Five minutes later a team of officer's were at my door, "Cuff up, Rosso," one of them told me as he unlocked the tray-slot. "You're moving." When I explained that I didn't want to cause them any problems but there was no way in hell I was moving until I finished my wine, the same officer said, "We don't give a shit about your wine - take it with you. In fact, step over and I'll cuff-your hands in the front so you can carry it yourself. We're just making you downstairs."

As innocent as that may have sounded, that I could take my wine with me and they were just moving me downstairs, what he was actually saying was, "Dude, you've got enough problems already. Go ahead and keep your wine because we're not trying to make it worse on you." You see, below me was A-100 range, a tier full of about 30 Muslims - five times a day extremely loud chanting Muslims, that is. And there wasn't a white guy on the tier. That meant it was just going to be me, the lone cracker, surrounded by a bunch of potential suicide bombers, all of which were black. Talk about a buzz kill.

To my surprise, life downstairs with all of my Allah-loving friends turned out to have its benefits. Yes they chanted their prayers five times a day every day, and yes a lot of their conversation was centered around "White Devils" and "Kill whitey" racial discrimination talk that I've become accustom to hearing throughout the years. But Muslims – by far the most spoiled bunch of inmates in the BOP - get special "Religious meal" trays that are almost always loaded with fruit and sugar. In other words, they were all getting wine-making material and none of them drank. So I cut a deal with them. Since I was the only guy on the tier with a radio, I agreed to set my little one-speaker jammer by the door every night as long as they passed me down their fruit and sugar every day. The result - SWEET.

For an entire month, I stayed pickled.

One day in mid August and officer came to my door and told me to cuff up. I had a visitor, he said, and I needed to hurry. After putting on my orange jumpsuit and exiting the cell, I walked up the stairs to see two people waiting for me, the SHU lieutenant. and Warden M.R.

Put him in here," M.R. told the officer, pointing to the attorney/ client visitation room. "And you two wait out here; I want to talk to Rosso alone."

If I said I was a bit nervous I'd be lying.

When the door closed behind us, the warden turned to me and said, "Listen here, Rosso. The first thing I want you to know is that you're damn lucky I wasn't here the night that you and your buddy's pulled that shit on my officer's. Every time I think about that video of you and Dusty attacking my men it just makes me sick." Per Bureau policy, when cell extractions are conducted the entire process must be video recorded. On the night of June 12, as the "S.O.R.T" (Special Operations Resort Team) was going about their business gassing, shooting, and beating us down, Dusty and I came up with a preemptive plan. Rather than stay in our cell and give them the advantage, we decided to take the battle to them, a move that they were totally unprepared for. So the second our cell door opened out we came - catching the first of five officer's standing flat-footed, which, in effect, caused the rest of the men standing in a single-file line behind him to go crashing down like dominoes. One officer got his chin split open and required stitches; the rest suffered Injuries no medical doctor could fix - endless ridicule from the inmates as well as their peers. And it was all caught on tape. "I swear to God, Rosso," M.R. said, "if I'd a been here that night I would have killed you myself."

Something in his eyes told me that he meant it. In fact, rumor had it that when M.R. use to work as a regular guard at the Federal Medical Center in Springfield, Mo., he would torture inmates every time he got the chance. Yet at the same time, even though he may or may not have been serious, there was something comical about hearing a warden make such a statement. I just kept my head down and my mouth shut while he continued.

"But I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna put that incident behind us and give y'all a second chance - not necessarily because I want too, but more because I have too. You see, I've got 400 D.C. niggers "comin' into this institution within the next three weeks and I need all the white boys I can get who aint got no common sense. I'm sure you're well aware of the reputation them boys from D.C. have."

I was - very much so. They were notorious for robbing, stealing, and raping other prisoners, not to mention openly masturbating in front of female staff members. If there weren't enough white guy's out in general population who would actually do something to the D.C. blacks if they started to run amuck, then the weaker whites would surely fall victim to their predatory ways. Simply put, M.R. was using us.

"Now here's the deal," said the warden. "I don't care about y'all drinkin' or druggin' and playin' your little penitentiary games. If my officer's catch you slippin', you're going to the hole - plain and simple. But I will not tolerate violence that involves weapons of any kind, nor will I tolerate any type of violence whatsoever in my chow hall. Am I making myself clear?" I told him that he was. "Good, now I want you out of my face; let's go."

An hour later the kind Warden let everyone that was involved In the June incident out of the hole. But for me, my days out in general population were short lived. Because on October 8, 2001, I got into a physical altercation - and used a sharp metal weapon to cut a guys face, neck, and chest.
Sometimes, shit just happens.

KL was not only the shot caller of the Dirty White Boys, but a close friend of mine as well. In fact, it was because of my friendship with him that I eventually joined the gang (as did Dusty). When I went back to the hole following the assault with a deadly weapon (an act that was gang related), I was placed in cell A-206, a cell that KL had been in since the day that he assaulted an officer for trying to take his dope. In cell A-206 me and KL continued to do what we did best -drink, get high, and laugh at the world.

During one of his Wednesday rounds, M.R. came by our cell and informed us that we were both being transferred. Kenny, he said, was going to Marion, one of two control units in the BOP [at the time] designed to house the worst inmates in the system. "But you," M.R. said staring at me, "I've got other plans for. I'm taking you right along with me so I can keep a close eye on you." Where WE, or even HE was going I hadn't a clue. But he was serious. Because the following day around noon, my Unit Team counselor came to the door with a Progress Report for me to sign, a indication that my transfer was in the works.

And honestly, I was bummed. The last thing I wanted to do was leave Leavenworth. It was just an all around great place to do time.

A few weeks passed and I learned that M.R. was not only gone, but that he'd been promoted to the position of Northeastern Regional Director, a very prestigious job that reigned over 18 prisons. With my custody level points being high, and only two maximum security prisons in that region, I assumed that I was either going to USP Allenwood or USP Lewisburg. And I assumed right. One Wednesday morning shortly after before lunch, one of M.R.'s most loyal cronies knocked on our cell door window and told me that he had just gotten off the phone with "The Big Guy." "You're going to Lewisburg," said Associate Warden B, laughing at me. "Where M.R.'s gotta whole bunch of friends that are just waiting to make your life a living hell." B was the man in charge on the June 12 cluster fuck, the night we held our trays and got beat down for being drunk and stupid. Since there were numerous procedural violations that occurred during the actual cell extractions, and B oversaw the operation, he took the heat for the screw-ups. Needless to say, he really hated every convict who was involved in the incident. And trust me, there was no love lost.

Me and KL both stuck our middle fingers in the air and told him to fuck-off.

About a cell distance behind B was an overweight man with reddish-brown hair who looked kind of important. As he inched closer towards our cell, I noticed that the name tag on his shirt said Warden C. "Are you our new Warden?" I asked the man. He gave me a warm smile, acknowledged that he was, then asked me my name. After I told him, I said, "Hey Warden, who's running this joint. M.R. or you?" He responded by saying M.R. was gone, therefore he was. "Oh really," I commented a bit sarcastically. "Well I can't tell." When he asked me what I was getting at, I explained that M.R. was having me transferred to Lewisburg. "I'm not trying to go to the east coast," I said. "And this is my region. Can't you just keep me here and give me another shot?"

Warden C looked up at the tag on my door and pulled a pen and note pad from his pocket. "If I let you back out on this compound, do you promise to behave Mr. Rosso?"

Assistant Warden B, who was listening in on our conversation, zoomed in next to the Warden and rudely interrupted us. "M.R. handled Rosso's transfer himself, warden. He want's him in his region for a variety of reasons."

C seemed to ignore the assistant warden and wrote something down. "Well, I believe in second chances," C said. "Mr. Rosso. If I find out that you have no separations on this compound do you promise to do the right thing if I let you out?"

"Rosso's a member of the Dirty White Boys, warden," B said in disbelieve. "He’s in the hole for cutting some guy in the face with a razor."
The warden didn't even glance at B. "Well, Mr. Rosso?"

"Most definitely, sir," I said like a choir boy with my fingers crossed. "You won’t have any problems out of me."

"I'll try to have you out by the end of the day," Warden C said. "Now don't disappoint me."

The look on B's face was priceless - beat red with smoke rolling out his ears. As soon as I knew for certain that Warden C was far enough away so that he couldn't hear me, I flashed B a shit-eatin' grin and said, "Make sure that you send M.R. my love." Both me and Kenny then busted out laughing.

Like Warden C promised, I was released the very same day.

On June 12, 2002, Dirty White Boys ST and SW brutally assaulted RH, one of our brothers. The following Sunday Head and Youngster (both DWBs) hit yet another brother, No Nose. In an effort to stop the violence and try to determine what was going on internally with the Dirty White Boys, Warden C had us all locked down.

Around 9:00am on July 18, thirteen members of the DWB's were taken from our cells, strip-searched, shackled and chained, then marched over to Building 63, the oldest segregation unit in Leavenworth. Held together by decaying red-brick, inside the building humongous cells occupied with rodents and insects lacked any form of air condition - and it was mid July in Kansas.

Despite the critters and extreme heat, Building 63 turned out to be an absolute blast. The wine never stopped brewing, the prescription pain pills that helped cure all of our non-existent ailments kept coming, and more than one officer was bringing us in cartons of Buglar tobacco from the yard (supplied by our friends in general population who would deliver the stuff to the officers during shift change). The problem with 63, however, was that it became too wild. In less than three months the Dirty White Boys alone were responsible for two in-cell assaults, snatching an orderly through the bars and braking his arm, a fire, a flood that completely washed out the bottom floor, and a fecal-assault on an officer that not only landed in his face, but made it directly into his mouth. And some how, all of this activity caught the attention of a Big Wig on the East Coast.

On the morning of September 7, 2002, the light flicked on in our cell and there stood M.R. "You boys still aint figured out how to act right, huh?" he said. "Well, I'll tell you what. I gotta new place In my region that's being built just for assholes like you. And Rosso," he said pointing at me, "you aint gonna get away from me this time. I'm gonna make damn sure that you, Dusty and Billy go exactly where I want you to even if that means I have to come here, put the chains on you, and fly the goddamn plane myself."

Five weeks later me, Dusty, Billy, Rick, Scott, and Jeremy were on a plane bound for the Northeast Region. With the exception of Dusty who went to USP Allenwood, we all went to USP Lewisburg - home of the federal Bureau of Prisons new 18 month, lock-down "Gang Program."

After nearly two months of being in segregation, we were all released into general population under the condition that If we screwed up "once", to the Gang Program we would go. Well, it took me less than three months to see just how serious the administration at Lewisburg was. Because on February 18, 2003, at exactly 7:02am, I walked up behind a guy named JC in the chow hall and assaulted him. For my crime I spent 30 days in the hole and was let right back out on the mainline without hearing so much as a peep about being sent to "G Block" otherwise known as the Gang Program.

M.R. rode into Lewisburg on April 29, 2003 and one of the first things that he did was round up all of the Dirty White Boys and read us the riot act. We were threatened, verbally abused, and basically, punked out. Once he finished blowing off some steam, I spoke up. "Hey, M.R., what are my chances of going to an FCI next year?" An FCI, or Federal Correctional Institution is a medium security facility, a prison that I was clearly ineligible for. I knew there was no way that I was ever leaving a max, I was just braking his balls.

"I'll tell you what I'm willing to do, Rosso," he said. "If you give me 18 months clear conduct I'll send you to any FCI In my region that you wanna go too. Now, if you can make it there three years without gettin' in to any trouble, I'll send you to any FCI in the country."

Again, I was just being a smart-ass; not in a gazillion years did I believe that I would ever be having such a conversation with M.R., or anyone else of that matter. But when I realized that he was serious, I thought about the new FCI that was being built in Forrest City, Arkansas. It was only a few hours away from my parent’s farm and it would mean everything to mother if I were that close to home.

"You've got a deal," I said to M.R. Then, without even realizing that I did it, I stuck my hand out and we shook on it. Never in my life had a shook hands with a prison official - of any kind.

"I'll be keeping tabs on you, Rosso," he said. "But not for a second do I believe that you'll be able to pull it off."

And truthfully, neither did I. Although I would have loved to be close to my parents so they could come visit all the time, the truth is it's nearly impossible for someone in a prison gang to stay out of trouble. It’s part of the gig. Then when you factor in alcoholism and drug addiction, we're talking, I had a .000 to none chance of making it 18 months without getting into trouble for SOMETHING. And I was right. One beautiful Sunday morning in August of 2003, me and two of my brothers -TC and RS _- skipped breakfast and went out to the yard with three pints of moonshine. We were in the hole by noon.

There came a day In 2004 when my boss down in laundry told me that I was wanted up in the lieutenant’s Office. As I was standing in front of the door waiting to be called in, I saw about a dozen suits headed my way. Leading the pack, Regional Director M.R. As soon as he saw me, he motioned for me to start walking towards him. "Get over here, Rosso," he called out. I should have known by the way that the rest of the suits were snickering, that it wasn't going to be good.

"Listen here, Rosso," he began. "I'm sure you know by now that I'm about to retire." Actually I didn't, but I remained silent. "Well, don't you for one second think that you or any of your buddies are clear of me. In fact, as soon as B gets his first USP, I'm gonna have him send for you, Dusty, and Billy. That way I can keep track of you."

I really wasn't paying attention to his nonsense. I was more concerned about him retiring. You see, I had made a conscious decision to stop using alcohol and drugs and because Lewisburg turned out to be a really laid-back prison, I started to believe that I could actually make It 18 month’s clear conduct. I was ready to try to make it down to an FCI so I could eventually make it closer to my parents.

"Who's taking your place?" I asked him.

"D is," M.R. said. "What's that have to do with anything."

D was the current warden of Lewisburg. "Because I'm focused on doing 18 months clear conduct so I can go to an FCI like we talked about. Can you talk to D and tell him about the deal we made?"

"An FCI?" M.R. roared, seemingly astonished. "What'n the hell are you talking about?"

I reminded him of our last conversation, told him that I had fucked up and went to the hole for drinking, but said that I was committed to my sobriety. What I didn't tell him was that I was basically calling the shots for the Dirty White Boys, or that we had a pecking order of who went on the next "Mission". In other words, because I some-what had control over the direction of the gang, and I was the last person to put in work (the assault in February of '03 that took place in the chow hall to be specific), the chance of me getting into trouble was relatively low. Therefore, it was a perfect time for me to remain clear conduct. "So, does the offer still stand with D or what?"

For a second he was speechless. Then he said, "Rosso, I don't know what kind of drugs -you're on, or what kind of drugs that you were on when we last talked, but they must have been some pretty good ones. Where and the hell do you ever come up with such a story?"

The suits standing all around us started giggling. "What do you mean story?" I shot back. "You're the one who came up with the idea - we even shook on it. Are you telling me that you don't remember any of it?"

"Well, I'll tell you what," he said. If I did say it, then I lied. Because the last place that you're EVER going is to an FCI. In fact, I called you up here to remind you of a promise that I made to you along time ago - that I'm gonna bury my shaft in you. And don't don't think for a second that just because I'm retiring I can't reach out and slain, it in you. Because the way I see it, I ain't even got the head in yet."

And that was the last time that I ever saw M.R.

It was a warm summer day in July of 2005 when I made my way up the staircase in F Block to find Warden S and a lieutenant standing in front of my cell. I had just came off the handball court, was dripping with sweat, and all that I wanted to do was get my stuff and take a shower. But I couldn't. Because as soon as he saw me, the warden told me to stay where I was - they were shaking down my cell.

"Ah, come, warden," I pleaded when I heard a bag of potato chips being smashed. "I don't have jack-shit in those bags. That's fucked up." Because I ran a store, I had at least a couple of thousand worth of commissary items in my cell. If the staff had reason to believe that I was hiding contraband in some of the items, which I rarely did, they would come in and tear everything up. Which, by the sound of it, was exactly what they were doing.

After standing there hearing my world get turned up side down for a few minutes, two officers finally emerged from my cell with nothing in their hands.

"I told you that I didn't have anything in that cell," I griped.

"Rosso, before you go in there I want to speak with you for a minute." He then thanked the two officer's, told the lieutenant. to go ahead and leave, then turned to me. "Do you know where I'm originally from?"

“No, should I?”

“Missouri,” Warden S responded. “Do you know who else comes from Missouri?”

I had no idea where he was going with this. “No, but I assume that you’re about to tell me.”

“M.R. does,” he said smiling. “The two of us go way back and I just got off of the phone with him.”

It took me a minute to process what he was saying. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I said in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that, that sick bastard has nothing else better to do with his life than sit at home trying to come up with ways to still make prisoners miserable.”

Warden S said that their conversation didn’t quite go like that. “He somehow found out that Dusty was recently transferred here from Allenwood and asked me if you two were back up to your old tricks. When I told him that I hadn’t received a single complaint about you, Dusty or any other DWB, he said that’s because you all were being slick. He assured me that if I thoroughly checked your cells I’d come up with drugs, knives and all sorts of contraband. Let’s just say that he got me a little curious.

I shook my head. “That man’s sick, Warden S. He knew exactly what he was doing. He manipulated you into having our cells shook down.”

He laughed. “At least he was wrong, right? Except for the excess commissary items in your cell due to the store that you’re running, which by the way I don’t care about, you’re clean, and so are the rest of your brothers. Now, the next time that I talk to M.R. I can tell him that I was right and he was wrong.” Warden S patted me on the shoulder. “Chin up, Rosso. You’ll get your store restocked and back to par in no time.” And away he went.

When I walked in to my cell it literally looked like a tornado had hit it. Boxes of cakes, bags of chips, packages of cookies, candy and other food items were torn and scattered about the floor, mixed in with the rest of the mess was my bed linen and clothing. The only thing that the officers didn’t destroy of mine were two boxes of legal work and personal writings. I was fucking pissed.

But you know, after I cleaned up the mess and even no all of these years later as I sit here and write about it I have to laugh. Perhaps M.R. didn’t get to bury his shaft in me like he promised but he damn sure gave me a golden shower. He’s one warden that I’ll never forget.

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Robert Rosso

Check out www.convictinc.com and www.facebook.com/robertrosso

Order Street Legends Vol. 2 Today

http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/upload/left to right Fresh, Plex, E-4, E.jpg

As with most hood legends, it usually takes a rapper to put them on the map. They can be certified in their hood and city like the Boobie Boys were, but until a rapper takes them national, they’re just the latest ghetto star. In the Boobie Boys case, it was gangsta rapper William “Rick Ross” Roberts who glorified their legend in his rhymes. In his song White House on Port of Miami he rapped, “Let me think back to ’96 when Bobbie had the realest nigga feelin like a bitch.” He also shouted out the crew in the Trilla intro – “Shout out to Kenny Williams. Shout out to E-4. Shout out to Fishgrease.” To the public, Boobie was nothing more than a drug dealer with a murderous bent, but to Ross he was a friend and mentor. “To me Boobie is the Carol City Cartel, what Larry Hoover was to the Gangster Disciples.” Ross credits the notorious Boobie as his most important mentor and credits Boobie with founding the Carol City Cartel.

Ross says that before Boobie was apprehended by the FBI, he passed the rap gauntlet to Ross, his protégé. “The dude that initially put me into the music game is Boobie. My music touches on his lifestyle. Boobie helped a lot of people in the hood and inspired a lot of positive things. The downside to it was that he was accused of over 100 homicides and for running a multi-million dollar drug enterprise,” explained Ross. “The stuff I talk about is real. The dope is real. The gun talk is official. Look up Kenneth ‘Boobie’ Williams. Look where he’s from. That’s not nothing to be proud of. I wish that on no man. But just to let you know, that’s what I witnessed. It’s a reality.” Since his debut on the national scene with Everyday I’m Hustlin Ross has claimed affiliation with the Boobie Boys.

“Them niggas were doing their thing. I was just watching. I was a fan of the game. I sat on the porch and watched the Cadillacs go by,” said Ross. “The nigga I talk about on my record is Kenneth ‘Boobie’ Williams. He was featured on America’s Most Wanted in 1999. He got three life sentences, and they said it’s going to take five more years before they get to all of the murders. His only conviction was a federal firearms conviction. The police said the only reason that occurred was because an officer alleged he observed him get out at a gas station and pull a gun out. The officer then hopped back in his car. Didn’t follow him or shit. This was totally false, but that goes in the indictment. The feds say he got 100-130 bodies. He was like 27 years old. The feds alleged he was running a $100 million cocaine distribution business. I talk to him all the time, and I work hard to keep him positive, no matter what it is. My dog is fucked up. He will never see home again. You see a nigga like this comes around once in a lifetime. A nigga who won’t curse, but he’ll tell you in a soft voice to go home or suffer the consequences. It was what it was.”

Ross has honored his homie in verse and with a DVD. The rapper from Miami’s Carol City neighborhood teamed up with Chris Larceny to produce M.I.YAYO, a DVD profiling Ross’s Top 10 urban gangsters and street legends from Miami. The DVD is a gripping true account of street life in Miami that features the Boobie Boys, and Ross shows love to his homies in glorifying their deeds, legend, and exploits. “In the 80s and 90s which was my generation, a lot of niggas got rich, got killed or got life. Everybody knows what we represent. In my video I have a shirt on that says Boobie Boys. It represents my homie, Boobie,” Ross said. Ross emulates his former mentor too on the street tip. He portrays himself as not only a drug dealer but a gangster as well. “Get at me in the streets, nigga. You know how we play,” Ross said. “This shit about to get deeper than rap.” But Rick Ross is no Boobie. He’s just a rapper, an entertainer who got his start as a prison guard. Maybe that’s how he first met Boobie. The real characters of his rhymes have a different take on it all.

“Ross is the homie,” Chico says. “He was unconscious of the full effect behind his actions. I know his intentions were good, but it was bad PR for our case. You have niggas still fighting to overturn this shit. It’s not a good look when we’re arguing the allegations were hyped, distortions and straight up fabricated. But then a nigga with nationwide exposure is constantly trying to validate it with glory. Hip-hop/rap music and its content is so powerful. It travels beyond the realm of our ghetto.” Plex gives his take on the matter also. “Chico said it best, but for real, it was lightweight, a sucka move.” Plex says. “Because it’s like he validating what the cracka’s said by putting a Boobie Boys t-shirt on. Who the fuck is the Boobie Boys? Straight up. People don’t even call Black, Boobie. We call him Black. So if dude was out to support his man, he should have put on a Black t-shirt. Still it is what it is. Dude a rapper, he did some rapper shit, so I ain’t mad. I just hope he moves a little more wisely in the future and stands up for his man, Black, when the time comes, you feel me? But as far as Carol City Cartel, I didn’t have nothing to do with that. I was Streetlife Mob. Ross and them were little niggas back then. I did me musically and they’re doing them.” E-4 looks at it all a little differently. “It’s all entertainment,” he says. “I am just glad to see someone from where I used to be reach stardom. I wish Rick Ross all my blessings. I send him all my shout outs.” Rappers have to know where to draw the line between reality and entertainment though. Chico explains why.

“I was in USP Lee County when the Ross Hustlin single dropped,” Chico says. “One morning on my way to the yard my case manager stopped me. He said, ‘Harper, did you see the TV this morning?’ I thought my case had gotten overturned or something. As I looked bewildered and waited for him to continue he said, ‘Your homeboy is representing for you all Boobie Boys. MTV aired the video early this morning.’ This was a middle-aged white dude, living in the mountains of Virginia or nearby in the surrounding area. If Hustlin made it inside of his living room I know damn well it reached the dens and family rooms of the appeal court judges and clerks who were in the process of deciding on our direct appeal. You follow me? Not to mention the many undercover informants who roam amongst us with the duty to report back to them with any info that may be conceivably relevant. You understand? Our appeal was denied shortly after that. Now, I’m not implying that the homie’s comments directly caused it, but indirectly it’s very possible. It’s a slap in the face to certain people. You cannot glorify everything. Especially injurious events.” Chico didn’t sit back though he tried to reach out to the homie, correctional officer turned gangsta rapper Rick Ross.

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“When I first got word from the street about Ross’s statements concerning our case I tried to reach out to him.” Chico says. “My intentions were just to explain to him how to be more responsible with his words and actions. After failing to make direct contact with the homie, I sent another homie to the Hustlin video shoot. He spoke to Ross personally and was told that Boobie gave the green light for the attention. My man left Ross with my concerns and that was that. Since he said Boobie had stamped it that’s who I followed up with. I knew Boobie better. That information couldn’t have been accurate. To Ross’s credit Boobie never hit me back. I could only assume that it was true. That fucked me up cause niggas didn’t realize that this was bigger than a rapper trying to be vilified or a villain trying to be glorified. For some cats they might feel some type of commemoration for this type of association, not for me though. Association is what got me convicted in that courtroom and sentenced to life to start with. I didn’t support that shit.” Chico didn’t blame Rick Ross though.

“My beef was with Boobie.” Chico says. “Since then Rick Ross has dropped the M.I.YAYO DVD and continued to give bad PR to our case. And unless somebody with some sense gets in his ear or he grounds himself to a conscientious source he along with other rappers like him are going to continue making it hard on the real characters of their music. And it ain’t nothing gangsta about that. Ross is unconscious. A lot of rappers these days are. Even Tupac was with that name dropping shit. But the O.G.’s pulled him up quick and hipped him. He had real players of the game getting in his ear. He had Mutula, Geronimo, Sinqu and a select few more of the elite soldiers from behind this wall that grounded his ass. His hands on contact with their conscience minds is what made him so advanced beyond the rest. He was fortunate in that way. When he began talking about those brothers much like Scarface did with Larry Hoover they didn’t perpetuate the propaganda surrounding those brothers’ situations. They talked about the injustices that were involved. That’s how you represent for a nigga. Pac and Face learned that. Other rappers don’t so they run reckless with their lyrics, completely oblivious to its consequences.”

Check out the rest of this story and more in Street Legends Vol. 2. Order it today.

"Have you ever watched American Gangster on BET? Author Seth "Soul Man" Ferranti brings American Gangster from BET to the books in Street Legends. He chronicles the six most feared and respected gangsters who live by the creed death before dishonor." Rawsistaz Reviewers

"Ferranti continues to intrigue us with the most infamous O.G.'s and their unfathomable street life. With Vol. 2 he wins again with a solid page turner." The Source Magazine

"Seth brings the harsh reality of America's narco-history to a new generation, introducing them to iconic names such as the Boobie Boys, Short North Posse, Peanut King, Michael Fray and Frank Matthews." Hip-Hop Weekly

"Gorilla Convict is evolving into the most potent voice of the streets. Street Legends is the apple of a street soldier's eye." Walter "King Tut" Johnson, NYC Original Gangster

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 plus shipping & handling or request it at a bookstore near you.

Also check out Badland Publishing

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Death No Exceptions

In his first novel, Kareem Tomblin aka Soojah, takes readers into a world of cocaine and cash, where material things rule and death is always lurking. Drawn from real life experiences Kareem writes what he knows but he also aims to show the reality of the streets. But don't take our word, let him tell it.

Why did you write your book?

I wrote Death No Exceptions! not in an attempt to glorify the street way of life, but to paint a picture to the readers about how far some human beings will go to hurt and harm others over “material things” that’s here today and gone tomorrow like coke and cash. I wanted to also show just how much damage and pain an individual can cause when he/she is being motivated by the negative spirit of uncompromising revenge.

Who is the publisher and how did you get with them?

Prioritybooks Publication is the company that I am with. I came across an ad in the East St. Louis Monitor stating that Prioritybooks Publications was accepting manuscripts. I submitted material to them and was granted the opportunity to be apart of their family. Shout out to publisher “Rose Jackson-Beavers” for that.

What is your writing process like?

I can’t say that I have a certain process that I am guided by. I think I just flow with topics that come to me at whatever moment and try to develop a story that is reflective of my thoughts at the time. I rarely sit down to write a story. Usually, I get a cup of coffee and sit at the typewriter and let my mind take me where it wants to go.

What else do you have planned?

My plan is to see my next novel Father Forgive Me published and in the hands of readers. As well as Simpy Put, which is a book that I have written for my young black brothers incarcerated. Ultimately, my goal is to continue writing.

What do you think of the book game?

I think the book game, at this moment, reminds me of the drug game prior to me entering prison in the year of 1992. The only difference being, the drug game brings money your way fast as hell! The similarity is everybody is into it. As I look around, even here in prison, everybody seems to be writing a book. I see some guys writing about gangstas and thuggism, even though they never lived that life. Yet when you read their writing, someone who isn’t “intimately” familiar with that life wouldn’t know the real from the fake. As I see it, there are too many fake writers out there. I don’t think a lot of writers are appreciated for their hard work. It takes a lot of effort to sit down and write a novel. When you don’t get the money you really deserve it causes you to feel discouraged, making you want to say “fuck it” and throw your pen down. Moreover, I think there needs to be more appreciation on the behalf of publishing companies.

Describe your book and writing style?

My book, Death, No Exceptions!, is all about this chick, Monica, who is sitting on this great big life insurance policy in the form of coke and cash that William (a robber) has planned to take from her. William knows all about Monica and what she has because someone very close to her has inadvertently told him. In the process of Monica getting robbed, she decides to play senile about her coke and cash. This makes her robber furious. As a result, Monica’s little child ends up getting his finger cut off. At that point, Monica decides to tell the truth. She reveals where she is hiding her coke and cash. After her robber takes what he came for, Monica’s sets out to get her child some medical attention, find out who her robber is and how he became hip to her, and determine the consequences that these violators would have to face when everything unfolds.

Where are you now and how did you get there?

I am currently incarcerated. I have been incarcerated in the federal system since 1992. I was seventeen years old at the time of my arrest and detention. I was alleged by the government to be the youngest member of the so-called West Charlotte Posse, a gang that robbed big drug dealers in the city of Charlotte. Despite my juvenile status, the district court judge allowed me to be illegally transferred for adult prosecution. I received a prison term of 540 months.

Where are you from? What are you into?

I am from Charlotte, North Carolina. I used to be into thuggin’. I was into that because at that moment and stage in my life, that was all I knew. Damn near everyone I knew back then were thuggin’ and it rubbed off on me like a contagious virus or disease. After coming to prison and being schooled by a great company of elders who had been incarcerated far longer than I, I was taught beyond all else that ignorance is a cure for nothing! Thuggin’ is ignorance personified. I didn’t want to be looked at as ignorant anymore. It had gotten my ass a first-class ticket to the big house. I wanted out, physically. But most of all, I wanted out, mentally. So, I started studying and using my head. I renounced thuggin’ and started embracing thinking! That’s what I’m into today. Being a thinker!

Anything else?

Our new Commander and Chief, Barack Obama, said that we can change America. He said that in order for true change to come it would take all of us. All of us include the thugs. I believe it’s time for all of us, particularly the thugs, to really embrace thinking positive. I have come to know through painful experience that thuggin’ will eventually land you in one of two places: prison or an early grave. Either one will hurt the hell out of your loved ones because they will be deprived of your presence and natural leadership ability. When you deprive them of that, you are depriving them of the good gift that the Creator gave unto you to bless them with. You and I can change our negative situation into something positive, if we come to our senses. For a mind is indeed a terrible thing to waste.

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends Vol. 1-

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In the late 1980s when Rayful Edmond came to power in the city dominating the cocaine trade Fray was still doing his thing. He acted as the godfather, an elder statesman of the dope game. He still played a part and was a major factor during the crack era when Rayful had the game in a headlock. This was when Washington DC was known as the Murder Capital of the World. Bodies were dropping daily as dudes tried to get theirs in the vicious crack wars that raged throughout the city. There was so much killing that it was affecting business and when war broke out between Rayful’s crew and a rival faction in the Trinidad section of Northeast Fray was called in to restore order to the streets of Drama City on behalf of Rayful. As the venerated and respected O.G. of the city his presence provided a calming effect. Placating the bloodlust of the youngsters who now held sway in the city’s streets.

“When I say he had power, I mean real power in the city,” Frays relative says. “When Rayful’s crew had its issues with the dudes from Trinidad and bodies were dropping all over the place, fucking the city up, niggas turned to Fray. I was there. Fray was paid $100,000 to put an end to that and the killings stopped. Not because niggas were scared, but because niggas respected him. These were killers, known killers we are talking about. Fray had power like that in the city.” It’s said that even the FBI and DEA were impressed by Fray’s actions.

DEA agent John Cornille confirmed this in the pretrial hearings for the cocaine distribution case of kingpin Rayful Edmond. He testified that Fray was identified as the person who in August of 1988 imposed a cease fire in the bloody warfare between Rayful’s crew and the breakaway crew operating in the Trinidad section of Northeast, Washington DC. It was the last week of August and Rayful Edmond, Tony Lewis and their rivals met in a school yard near Howard University to squash the beef. Fray showed the rival crews that the warfare was senseless and attracted too much attention from the police, plus it was cutting into the profits from each crew’s business. The beef had gotten personal and didn’t make sense from a business perspective. Rayful and his rivals got a clue and a truce was called. The killing stopped and business resumed.

“Rayful came to him to squash one of the most notorious beefs in the city,” says a hustler familiar with the situation. “Fray was like that. His respect level was high.” Fray was a man who could get things done. By any means necessary. “He was a man’s man. The type of dude that could lead other men,” Ya says. “This is how he did what he did. That was how he carried it.” But Fray was not a power hungry man full of conceit. Those who knew him well described him as a humble man. “I knew him as a person,” Fatts says. “He was a real good person. He humbled himself to the lesser guy. Anyone who needed anything he would humble himself to anyone in need.” He remembered where he had come from and knew that any man could make the transition, like he himself had made, under the right circumstances.

Fray’s ability to mediate turf wars helped him out in other ways. He would pool money with Edmond and his partner Tony Lewis to buy cocaine from a Los Angeles drug broker who was Edmonds pipeline to Colombian dealers. Fray worked it all out to his advantage when he could. He was a gangster but he was a hustler also. He would be all over the city politicking with the different ballers and crews spreading goodwill and exerting his influence. There was a method to his madness. “I can remember seeing him at Northwest Gardens, the Maverick Room and the Masonic Temple to name a few,” Ya says and Fatts remembered Fray being, “Everywhere. The whole town. Back then the Masonic Temple, the Squad Room. It depended on what was happening.” Fray stayed in the mix and kept his ear to the grapevine. He was always out and about the town, getting the news and the 411 on what was going down.

At the same time Fray took care of his comrade in prison all across the nation. Keeping money on their books for commissary, paying for their lawyers and arranging for drugs to be smuggled into them. He'd go down to the different fairs and functions at Lorton and give away thousands of dollars to his homies. He wasn’t no fake dude, he looked out. Fray sent 20 grand to his partner on the run in Houston numerous times and blessed another homie with 50 grand when he hit the bricks. His moves caused close scrutiny though, Federal Law Enforcement agents said they were told by several drug dealers that some dealers ceded Fray the power to assign drug territories for PCP, heroin, cocaine and other drugs. Fray was like the marketing director for the DC drug world. The feds were very worried about this Don Vito type figure. By this time he was being closely watched and thoroughly investigated. But Fray kept doing him.

Looking out for the home team was Fray’s M.O. This loyalty to his people would be his downfall. Some dudes didn’t buy into his DC only mantra. They were jealous of Fray’s position. His relative explains, “Fray would lean on outsiders, dudes that were from out of town. I know, I saw it. I was there. He stressed to me not to lean on hometown dudes when there was enough dudes from out of town that could be taxed.” This was Fray’s philosophy as he moved into his thirties, a respected member of Washington DC's criminal underworld firmly entrenched in his position. But the game breeds larceny and it was creeping into the hearts of some dudes that were allegedly in Fray’s camp.

Check out the rest of this story and more in Street Legends Vol. 2. Order it today.

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Money, Sex and Murda

First-time urban author Scoop is bring it to you all the way live with Money, Sex and Murda. A story of two men living the life. Buckle up and ride through the streets of Washington, DC and watch how predators can ultimately become prey. Check out this exclusive interview with Scoop too.

Why did you decide to write a book?

I got into the literary game because I really wanted to challenge myself to see if I could paint that picture for the world to see. And I love it!

What are your influences?

I can’t say that I have any true influences. I dig a lot of authors who write about different things and it ends there.

Describe your style?

My writing style is urban, but with the ability to describe scenes and whatnot like James Patterson or George Pelecanos.

Is your book based on real life?

My book is not based o real life entirely, but a lot of what takes in my book really went down.

What are your future plans?

I plan to expand my brand and promote my book right so that I can be well off financially and put other authors in position to eat. I’m currently in negotiation for a record deal. Music is my #1 love and books is #2. But I do have a few offers.

Where can people get your book?

I’m online, holmes. For me to be incarcerated it’s the best situation for me.

What is Money, Sex and Murda about?

My book is based on two main characters, God and Murda Mike. They have been best friends since the age of about nine and eventually got into the streets together. Things are going good until people start turning that pistol on them and trying to take their life. And with Murda Mike’s babymother, Trina, sleeping with the enemy, it helps not one bit. And at the same time where the heat is coming down on them, God calms down a bit after having a son by his woman, Anisha, invests in legit businesses and remain a free man. But dirty cops try to set him up and a jump-off is pregnant by him. The book is a great book and takes place in Washington, DC. Go out and get the book everyone.

To order go to www.lulu.com/Content/2397351 or www.myspace.com/reallivescoop
$15.00 plus shipping/handling. Digital download $6.25.

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends Vol. 1-

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“His crew were real avid basketball dudes. They ran the dope leagues,” the young hustler says, and locals remember playground legends like Skip Wise lighting up the games with his signature “honey dip.” Peanut’s crew used to style and profile over at O’Dell’s too. O’Dell’s was known as the baddest club on the strip where all the players, hustlers, ballers, dime pieces, and pimps congregated. “O’Dell’s was like Studio 54, the hood version. It was over on North Avenue between St. Paul and Charles Streets. The line would go around the block. It kicked like that from 1975 to 1985. They had a million dollar sound system. Thursday nights were the nights,” the young hustler says. It was rumored that Nut owned the club. The hustlers would be lined up in their furs and jewels, pimped out. It was a beautiful time in Charm City. Gangsters stunted in all their glory.

Nut’s crew was different, sharp but professional; passersby would have thought they were businessmen. They were that fresh. Peanut always had a reserved table and women all around him. His crew was deep up in O’Dell’s. “The club had a radio commercial which said, ‘The underground is open. You’ll know if you belong,’” the young hustler says. “And Nut and his crew definitely belonged. They were like royalty up in that joint. Police would be up in there dancing and everything. It was crazy.” The photo booth captured the moments, even the moments with Nut. Him sitting in the wicker chair like it was a throne, his enforcers and colleagues surrounding him. Heavy was the head that wore the crown.

“Nut was well protected. He always had like three or four dudes around him,” the old head says. “You had to go through these guys if you wanted to talk to Nut. He was the man for real. He had a piece of the action of every club on the strip. The clubs, strip joints, gambling. Nut had it all.” Baltimore Street at that time was the strip and Peanut allegedly had his hand in the inner workings of most establishments in the area. “He took over prostitution on Pratt and Monroe Streets and sold a lot of heroin down there. That’s when Lafayette was ringing. The big money was made at the projects. The money generated off his name was crazy. Twenty to thirty thousand a day coming off of one corner selling halves and wholes,” explains the young hustler. The heroin spots in B-More were bubbling, making the Peanut King Mob crazy cash.

“Peanut King was bigger than the mayor because he took care of the ghetto,” the old head remembers. “He did things in different ways. He was a business man with morals. He showed love. He had big Christmas dinners in Lafayette, pulled up a U-Haul van and gave away presents for the kids, so how can you say something bad about a man like that? He was like the savior of the ghetto. He was one of the best con men in the business. If he could fool society and get them on his side while pushing dope and employing ruthless killers, his game was tight. He knew how to play every angle.” Peanut King was a man of many talents. He had the foresight to see a problem before it evolved. It’s said he made a lot of cases go away through his team of lawyers. “His lawyers were crooked as a two dollar bill,” the old head recalls. “They laundered his money and made all of his business dealings look legit. Anything big that was going down was going down because of Peanut. He was the king.” But like every king, Nut eventually fell.

Peanut King was the lord of Baltimore’s heroin trade throughout the 1970s and into the 1980s. He has gone down as a certified street legend in Charm City and all up and down the east coast. There have been many dudes featured in street DVD’s, magazines, and on BET’s American Gangster whose legends don’t compare to Peanut King’s. Not to diminish who they were but Peanut King’s star shines brighter. His stature and reputation is recognized by the many respected men who have played this so called game. In the belly of the beast he is widely known and acknowledged as a true original gangster. The man was an innovator whose business techniques in the heroin trade revolutionized the game. His swagger, flamboyance, demeanor and style has often been copied but no one can really do it like Peanut did. He left an undeniable mark on the streets, and his legend has reverberated, elevating him to mythical proportions in gangster lore and in the prisons, the only place where it really counts. In the pantheon of gangsterdom, Peanut King’s legend looms large. Taking its place next to the giants of gangster history.

Check out the rest of this story and more in Street Legends Vol. 2. Order it today.

"Have you ever watched American Gangster on BET? Author Seth "Soul Man" Ferranti brings American Gangster from BET to the books in Street Legends. He chronicles the six most feared and respected gangsters who live by the creed death before dishonor." Rawsistaz Reviewers

"Street legends is aptly named as it details the lives of six of the most notorious black gangstas in American history. The stories will leave you in awe- this shit is so real it reads just like a timeless gangsta flick. The book was on point from cover to cover." DaRevew.com

"Incarcerated author Seth Ferranti has compiled a who's who of the late 20th Century's most infamous kingpins in Street Legends, a compendium series documenting crack-era America's criminal enterprises. Ferranti has fashioned a rogues' gallery of drug lords that is as compelling as it is concise. This is a must read for true-crime enthusiasts." Harold Rodriguez, Smooth Magazine

"Gorilla Convict is evolving into the most potent voice of the streets. Street Legends is the apple of a street soldier's eye." Walter "King Tut" Johnson, NYC Original Gangster

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Kali Styles

Kalifornia Luv by Clifford "Spud" Johnson is exactly what the urban fiction genre needed- a street lit book set on the west coast, smack dab in the middle of gangbanging ground zero- Los Angelos, the City of Angels. In his novel Spud gives readers that west coast style, laying it down and showing the red/blue culture that dominates the inner-city hoods of LA. Take a journey with Spud into Kalifornia Luv.

Why did you write Kalifornia Luv?

I wrote Kalifornia Luv to put out a real story about where I was raised. My intention was to give readers some insight as to how things go down in Kalifornia streets. I wanted to illustrate a West Coast perspective of urban street life.

What’s your background, situation?

I was born in Detroit, but was raised in Kalifornia from the age of 5 years old. Inglewood is my City and that’s where my heart will forever remain. I experienced numerous encounters with drugs and mayhem which afforded me many visits with Kalifornia's Youth Authority. These experiences gave me a real template of street life. As a result of becoming consumed with the hustle, I found myself caught-up in a system that shows no mercy.

How did you get the name Spud?

Actually, it goes back to a family nickname, and everyone calls me Spud. While growing up in Kali, even my peers and teachers all called me Spud. As I got older, it took on different variations in my neighborhood. Now after all these years, people will finally learn my real name, because I chose to use my name on my debut novel, Kalifornia Luv in memory of my father, the late Clifford Johnson.

Where did you develop that California Style?

Again, I was raised in the streets of Inglewood from the age of 5 and from there, many of the vivid tales I write about, were born. I like to call my work fact based fiction, mainly because I either did it, saw it, or heard about it- some real life scenarios.

Do you think street lit needed a West Coast Book?

Definitely! The West Coast needed Kalifornia Luv and some of the others that will soon follow. I’ve seen a book here and there written about the West Coast, but it’s no secret that a large number of the Urban/Street Lit authors, publishers, and vendors are in the East. It was important for me, as a West Coast author, to title my book accordingly. I’ve got much love for those in the East, but felt obligated to share my West Coast perspective in my writing.

What keeps you motivated?

Several things motivate me. One being my sons, I write for them. I want them to see how I’ve tried to make a positive out of a negative situation. When I started serving this 17 1/2 year federal sentence, I realized it was important for me to make some necessary changes in my life. I’m a father, so I mainly wanted to be a better example for my two sons. I’d always thought about writing a book, but I never had the time. Hustling and gang activity kept me too busy. Also after going through a lot of unnecessary drama in the Feds, I calmed down and started to make the best out of a negative situation.

Other motivators are my fellow authors like Damon “Amin” Meadows, co-author of Convict’s Candy, who with a life sentence used his time to become an Essence Best Seller. Most importantly, my main motivator is me. I just want to do what’s right for once. I want to build and improve on this God given talent and make the most of it. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past and want to make the right moves now. Real talk!

Getting published is almost as hard, so with all the guys out here trying to secure a book deal, how were you so fortunate to get with a Publisher?

I was reading how Teri Woods and Vickie Stringer were accepting manuscripts for review and I was like why not? After a year of retyping my work and putting it into manuscript format, I submitted my draft to Teri Woods and Vickie Stringer. Vickie shot me down and man did that hurt, but she gave me some very encouraging words. She told me that my use of street language was the best she had ever reviewed. But she wasn't feeling the story. I never heard anything from Teri Woods, so I just kept writing. This was in 2004. By the spring of 2005, I got a letter from Teri Woods telling me that she loved my manuscript and for me to call her, collect if need be. I was so excited. Long story short, I sold my manuscript Secrets to Teri Woods and then dealt with her on another one called Confidential Informants. She didn't want to put me on, because I was incarcerated and promised to do business with me when I touched down. I was still hungry to get my name out, so I kept on writing. I refused to give up. In 2007, I met Jimmy Da Saint in FCI Texarkana. He turned me on to Karen Mitchell of Tru Life Publishing and I sent her my manuscript. From that submission evolved Kalifornia Luv and here I am today. I continue to learn about this publishing industry daily. I want to know all aspects of it from beginning to end. I’m here to stay!

Tell us about your novel Kalifornia Luv.

Kalifornia Luv is about a guy who gets out of prison and refuses to fall back into the life he was once a part of, which was gang banging and petty hustling. He has children by two different women and he knows he has to take care of them. He's determined to do right. He hooks up with his relative, Faloni, who gives him a job as a concert/party promoter for an up and coming company called TNT Promotions. From there the drama kicks in and Siggy (the main character) sky rockets to success legally. There are a few twist and turns in the story, but I don’t want to spoil the read for you. Everything happens so fast, and the character’s life once again spins out of control. Like many of us today, Siggy is faced with many decisions. Ultimately, he has to decide what's most important to him his life, money, family, his hood, or his freedom. Trust me it’s a Kalifornia tale that anyone can relate to on one or more levels.

Any “Have You Red Spud?” fans can contact Spud via:
myspace.com/haveyouredspud, facebook,
freewayenterprise.com/profile/haveyouredspud
or email him at haveyouredspud@aol.com
or write him at:

Clifford “SPUD” Johnson
P.O. Box 13102
Oklahoma City, OK 73113-1102

Kalifornia Luv is available at:
-Amazon.com -Mahoganybooks.com
-Urban Knowledge Bookstores -by emailing haveyouredspud@aol.com
-Borders.com - Milligan Books in Los Angeles, CA

WATCH THE KALIFORNIA LUV BOOK TRAILER ON YOUTUBE.COM

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends Vol. 1-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 plus shipping & handling or request it at a bookstore near you.

ORDER PRISON STORIES TODAY

"Have you ever watched American Gangster on BET? Author Seth "Soul Man" Ferranti brings American Gangster from BET to the books in Street Legends. He chronicles the six most feared and respected gangsters who live by the creed death before dishonor." Rawsistaz Reviewers

"Street legends is aptly named as it details the lives of six of the most notorious black gangstas in American history. The stories will leave you in awe- this shit is so real it reads just like a timeless gangsta flick. The book was on point from cover to cover." DaRevew.com

"Incarcerated author Seth Ferranti has compiled a who's who of the late 20th Century's most infamous kingpins in Street Legends, a compendium series documenting crack-era America's criminal enterprises. Ferranti has fashioned a rogues' gallery of drug lords that is as compelling as it is concise. This is a must read for true-crime enthusiasts." Harold Rodriguez, Smooth Magazine

"Gorilla Convict is evolving into the most potent voice of the streets. Street Legends is the apple of a street soldier's eye." Walter "King Tut" Johnson, NYC Original Gangster

Check out Raised By Wolves by Cavario H. and his interview with Gorilla Convict.

http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/upload/raised.jpg

The Guerrilla Hustler

In the world of street mags Cavario H. is well known. One of Don Diva's main writers and a force behind the magazines inception. Cavario has been down with the gangsta movement popularized by BET's American Gangster series since the jump. From Don Diva he moved onto Hip-Hop Weekly where he still resides as the Editor at Large. And now he's dropping his first book- Raised by Wolves, Inside the Life and Mind of a Guerrilla Hustler. Check out what he has to say about it in this exclusive.

What is your book about?

Raised By Wolves is the story of my life growing up in an ultra-violent, narco-criminal clan and how I survived 18 years of Guerrilla gangsterism to ultimately emerge Alive, Healthy & Free.

Why did you write it?

It began as a personal introspective, a sort of self therapy; after the deaths of essentially my entire family unit I began to reassess the three generations of criminal enterprise from which I was created. I had to write because I had no one I could discuss my past with. The book grew from that.

What were the early years with Don Diva like?

Those years, from its accidental inception in December of 1999 up to my departure in August 2006, were both difficult and exciting. It was my first ever legitimate endeavor. I did all of the interviews wrote all of the articles myself as well as took all of the pictures and did all of the promotions and distribution across the country myself. I wrote under several pseudonyms to hide the fact that there was really only one person providing the majority of the material so that we wouldn't appear to be the small operation that we actually were.

How did you get involved with that?

I started it with my ex, although a magazine was not in either of our plans. It grew out of another idea and was mistaken for an actual magazine after a promotional item to promote the initial idea was released. The promo item (although extremely slipshod) looked like a magazine so people, thinking it was a magazine, began asking me when our "next issue" was coming out. Since I had already been writing my book for two years prior it seemed the magazine was predestined. So we took our cue from the streets and in January of 2000 the very first actual issue of DD was born.

How did the hip-hop weekly gig come up?

In August of '06 after realizing that DD had hit a glass ceiling and that things would only go down from that point, I dissolved my interests and then immediately incorporated Body of Power publishing. With my two completed manuscripts I began focusing on publishing my books. Dave Mays, having heard over the radio in New York that I'd left DD, called me within two weeks and asked me to join him and Benzino in the launch of Hip Hop Weekly. I wasn't interested in doing magazines anymore but the concept intrigued me so I went to New York to check it out. We released the 1st issue of HHW on my birthday in Nov of that year and we've been making history ever since.

What are your future aspirations?

I aspire to bring genuine reality to the hip hop generation. The romanticized images of street life commonly perpetuated through popular media, i.e.; rap lyrics, rap videos, urban films, and so called "urban lit" has and will continue to confuse and mislead many more thousands, causing them to abandon their true paths. Most are far removed from the harsh hidden realities of that existence, because all they ever see are the trappings thus the choice to go that way seems sensible. Through the promotion of cult-ish materialism (in place of self-worth) many have been tricked into thinking that a couple of summers of fast cars and open bars is worth a lifetime in prison --if not a life. Having had it all, done it all, and survived I am uniquely qualified to say, "It’s a dirty trick and it simply isn't worth it." The way I did in DD.

BoPp books are about real people and real situations and through them I will provide insight into the deep-seated motives behind the blatantly self destructive choices too many young people continually make, motives that most of them do not overstand.

Order Street Legends Vol. 1 Today

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends Vol. 1-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com

ORDER PRISON STORIES TODAY

Order Street Legends Vol. 1 Today

http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/upload/dirtytat.jpg

What type of things are the brothers involved in?

White prison gangs and I guess you could even say ALL prison gangs, are generally into the same types of activity: Drug dealing, gambling operations, loan sharking, extortion, contract hits, running stores, and in some cases, prostitution - i.e. pimping. Let’s talk about the latter first.

Personally, I've never been involved with any of the pimping gigs. But I was at USP Leavenworth when Robert Wolfe, the shot-caller of the DWB's before KL, was selling white “punks" -prison faggots. He didn't run a whorehouse or have punks turning tricks, he would lease them. The truth is there are a lot of “Homo Thugs" (seemingly hardcore gangsta's and thug's that have sex with both men and women but don't consider themselves homosexuals or bisexual in prison that go crazy for Cracker-flavored Cream Puffs and there’s big money to be made off of them. So Wolfe would approach all the newly arrived Punks, tell them that if they wanted to stay he would protect them but they had to do what he said. He would then seek out a Homo Thug who had money or dope and broker a deal. I remember this one incident involving a Crip Homo Thug from Los Angeles named Reeves. He paid Wolfe three grams of heroin for this one punk who had long blonde hair, only to learn that the punk had one arm that was shorter than the other. Reeves complained that every time he fucked the thing all he could focus on was its short arm. He called the fag a “defect" and demanded a refund. It was actually very funny.

I'm also aware of many other instances of Dirty White Boys involved in making money off of punks. But again, I've never been into it.

Drug dealing is an ordinary part of prison life and I’ve never known of a prison gang that wasn't involved in the illegal drug trade. But before I go any further, let me get something straight: The Dirty White Boys have never dealt drugs as an organization. Meaning, it's not like in the movies where you see a prison gang leader get a bunch of drugs in and all of his guys distribute the stuff for him. Normally one person gets an amount of drugs in, he may or may not give one or more of the brothers an amount to either sell o use, and that's that. There's also been many cases where the DWB's wouldn't 1 any non-gang affiliated whites sell narcotics without braking off a cut - also known as a “tax". The Aryan Brotherhood started doing this in the California Prison system years ago and just about all white prison gangs since have picked up on this.

When I was at Leavenworth I was involved in drug activity both inside and outside of prison (I brokered deals from the telephone) and I never gave any of my brothers shit. Why? Because the D in DWB stands for DIRTY - not honest. We all burn each other and laugh about it later.

The gambling rackets and stores are two money-making operations that I personally thrived off of, and for me, has probably been the most beneficial part of being in a prison gang. In Leavenworth, we controlled all of the white-ran card tables. If you were white, you were not going to run a card game without braking us off half - 50% of the take). We didn't collect the money as a whole and divide it amongst us equally, the way it worked was each one of us had a certain table or tables that belonged to them. In B Lower, were I lived, I had a guy named Matt Brown running the white poker table in the unit and every night he brought in between $50 and $300. I got half. In exchange, if there was any problems in the game I had to deal with it.

In USP Lewisburg I started a store that became the biggest in the joint in lee than a year. On a bad month I pulled in $5OO; on a good month $1,500. (For those of you that don't know what a prison store is, it's simply the reselling of all items that can be purchased in the prison commissary. The mark-up is normally $50%). The store supported me, my celly, and one other brother, Dusty and I also ran a sports betting operation that sometimes made as much as $1,500 on a weekend. (We lost our fair share as well).

Contract hits are also something that are common but I'm not willing to go into all that. I also want to make it clear that I left Lewisburg in January of 2007 and I have not been involved in any type of gang activity since. I came here to Butner for cancer treatment, my treatment is on-going, and I will have to be monitered for the rest of my life. So when I'm responding to these questions, keep in mind that I'm talking about things that happen prior to 2007. There are no Dirty White Boys where I am today nor is there any gang activity in this prison. I guess you can say, I'm out of the loop.

Are the DWB's strictly a federal prison gang? If so, why?

I heard rumors that the DWB's have started to branch off in some state prison systems, but I don't know that to be a fact. I know that shortly after Robert Wolfe was released from federal prison, he caught a new case in the state of Colorado for attempted murder. Because he was one of our shot-callers, and because he really loved prison drama, i can't see him NOT starting a DWB chapter in the State of Colorado's prison system.

As for why the DWB's are strictly a federal gang, it's because we started in the fed's. But as time goes on, prison gang members tend to get out of one prison system and filter into the next. The Aryan Brotherhood for example started in the California system and they've branched out all over the place. The Nazi Low Riders also started in' California and now they are in the Feds a: well. So if there are no DWB chapters in state prison systems, mark my words, there will be.

What is the status of the DWB in the feds today?

In 2002 when I went through the Oklahoma Transfer Center I was told by one of the classification officers that the DWB's had over 300 members. Whether not this is true, I don't know, But if it is, keep in mind that this means that there is over 300 members in all of the federal system, not the USP's. And I'm sure a lot of people reading this don't understand the difference between a USP FCI, or camp, so I'll explain.

The USP's or the United States Penitentiary's are maximum security prisons that house inmate that are deemed high risk. The FCI's or Federal Correctional Facility's are medium and lower security prisons for inmates that need less supervision. And of course, there is the FPC's, Federal Prison Camps that house the lowest level security inmates.

Although the Dirty White Boys originated in an FCI, a medium security prison, the DWB's in the USP's don't consider the ones in the FCI's REAL Dirty White Boys, they consider them “suspect", “lames" or “wannabe's". The biggest reason that they look down on them is because DWB's in the FCI's are notorious for selling membership into the gang. At FCI Seagoville for example, I know of one case where a guy agreed to buy all of the DWB's in that prison ice creams every store day for his "patch". So really, he was paying to be in a prison gang. Also, those in the USP's figure REAL Dirty White Boys that join in FCI's wouldn't stay in a medium security joint very long if they were truly about something - they would be in a USP with the Big Boys. It's like this. If you're in a prison gang and you're not constantly getting into trouble, then you're faking - prison gang members stay in trouble. And if you stay into trouble, then your security points will go up which means that you'll end up in a USP. So this means that the DWB'svj-and all other prison gang members - the FCI's must not be putting in any real work or else they'd be in a USP, or so the theory goes, And I'll add this, the Dirty White boys that do start in FCI's and work their way up to the USP's get treated like shit when they get there. They go on just about all of the missions for the first year and have to do what all of the other brothers tell them to do. It's like they have to prospect all over again, but worse. I've known three DWB's that joined in an FCI only to come to a USP and figure out that gang life just wasn't for them - they couldn't handle the drama. They all “checked-in", requested protective custody.

Getting back to the question, I would have to say that the status of the DWB's in the Fed's is not good. Besides the fact that the ones in the USP's don't like or recognize the ones in the FCI's, here's a few more problems that's screwing the gang up.

(A) There is no line of communication. In order for a prison gang to truly be successful, they must be able to communicate from one prison to the next in a timely manner. This means that they need a person on the outside who is willing to receive and forward mail for them as well as pass phone messages/, Very few prison gangs have a solid line of communication,!)and the Dirty White Boys is not one of them. Therefore, we do not know exactly who is where for weeks or even months at a time, we don't know who all of the members are, and we have no way in selecting a shot-caller for the gang as a whole. Instead leaders are restricted to the prisons that they are in.

(B) There is still no structure. People on the outside sometimes believe that prison gangs are well organized, but that's rarely the case. Some are, b very few. Most are exactly like the DWB's - multiple factions totally independent from each other. There is no governing body of leaders, or a President, General, etc. I've met four Dirty White Boys in the last nine years that really wanted to fix the problem.-Their names are KL Billy Weston, Windell Rigsby, and Michael “Cisco" Montgomery. They all believed that we needed a governing body, bylaws, and colors. It never happened. (KL, Billy, and Windell all got out of prison. Cisco goes home in two years and has since transferred to an FCI).

(C) There is no clear mission. Unlike the Aryan Brotherhood who started out with a purpose, to defend whites from blacks and Mexicans, the Dirty White Boys started as a softball team. Well, now there’s hundreds of members with no real purpose wasting potential. Meaning, what is the gangs mission? To be a criminal organization? To shoot dope? To protect whites? To make money And that's my point - no one really knows. The DWB's are just a bunch of guys that all share a tattoo. There should be a clear mission or purpose of the gang, a governing body, and bylaws. The Hells Angels went from being a white trash motorcycle gang to a full on corporation and they nave since marketed themselves - they are, in fact, a BRAND. The Dirty White Boys could actually do the same exact thing.

(D)The DWB's have a fucked up reputation. One of the worst things about being a member of the Dirty White Boys is having to prove that I'm not some piece of shit scumbag, like so many of my brothers are. White prison gangs in general have a terrible reputations but none worse than the DWB's. Well, aware of this, when I was at USP Lewisburg where I was the de facto shot-caller for nearly three years I went out of my way to try and rebuild our reputation, (yeah, I know. Kind of hard to do with a name like the “Dirty White Boys", right?) I stayed away from prostitution or pimping, I wouldn't take contract hits, and we didn’t do robberies. I also intentionally forged relationships with other white prison gangs as well as the D.C. blacks, a group we’ve had trouble with in the past. But while we DWB's in Lewisburg were busy repairing our reputation and building relationships across the board, DWB's in other prisons were busy fucking up and making us look bad. It's pretty-much a losing battle.

The DWB's are the most hated white prison gang in the fed's.

In the past five years there has been an explosion of white prison gang in the federal system and very few get along - and nearly all don't like the DWB's. We've had serious problems with the Aryan Brotherhood, the Aryan Circle, the Aryan Nation, the Texas AB's, the Ohio AB's, some skin Head gangs, and the Soldiers of Aryan Culture. (I'm sure there’s many more that I'm unaware of). And You Know what's crazy? The Aryan Brotherhood originally started so they could. PROTECT the whites from blacks and Mexicans. Now, all these white gangs are not only at each other throats but they abuse non-gang affiliated whites as well. There really isn’t a single white prison gang out there that people think are swell guys.

So let me rephrase your question; and answer it a different way: What is the status of all the white prison gangs in the feds today? Answer: CONFUSED!

Why do People in prison join gangs?

A psychologist would probably say that people come to prison and join gangs out of fear and I wouldn't disagree with that. I've seen guys join gang because they were suspected snitches looking for protection, because they were dope-fiends that owed pre-existing dope bills that they couldn't pay, because they were physically weak, or because they thought that they had to in order to survive. But I've also known guy's who just wanted to belong to something because they had no family of their own, because they were looking for a family to replace their biological ones, or because they just hung out with a certain group of guys that they liked who happened to be gang members, so they decided; to join. But I'll tell you something else. I believe that our Rap/Hip-Hop dominated culture has not only played a role in helping tear apart America, but I see the effects that its had on white youth in prison as well. These kids in their early 20's come to prison eager to join a gang, just like their Rapper/Hip-Hop heroes sing about. It's a trip...

Has There Been Any Big Rico Cases Or Federal Cases Against The DWB?

The short answer to that question is no, there has not. And the reason that there hasn't been any RICO cases I against the DWB is probably because we are a disorganization, just like I already said. The down side of being an organized prison gang complete with a governing body, bylaws, and a good line of communication is that it becomes much easier for prosecutors to nail you with Organized Crime statutes, such as RICO. Having said that, in 2000 we were investigated by the FBI for an alleged contract hit. Agents in the Kansas City office believed that reputed Philadelphia mob boss John Stanfa paid the Dirty White Boys to assault Nick Gio, a known associate of Chicago's Greek mafia. The two assailants, DB and Windel Rigsby were charged institutionally but were never indicted, nor was Stanfa or any of the DWB’s. in 20U1 federal agents from the Terrorist Task Force came to Leavenworth and attempted to interview several members of the gang. They claimed under the new Patriot Act that prison gangs could now be charged as Domestic terrorists and they were considering looking into prosecution. I just laughed and told them to run it consecutive with my life sentence. Nothing ever became of it.

There have been DWB's who have caught new cases in prison but to the best of knowledge none were convicted for crimes involving an entire faction of the gang. The few that I do know about are as follows... In 2001 at USP Leavenworth, DB received four additional years for Illegal Use of a telephone. The case stemmed from a drug introduction conspiracy involving non-gang members. In 2005 at USP Pollack, two DWB's busted the hinges off of their door in the Special Housing Unit and attacked a rival gang member on the tier. The victim, a member of a black gang known as the Dirty South, was stabbed repeatedly in the face and neck with a homemade weapon, specifically a melted down plastic roil-on bottle. One of the assailants, Otto Horstiene received an eight year sentence while the other, a guy called “Kid" (I forgot his real name) received a The Crime Enhancement and was sentenced to 11 years. (Kid yelled out racial slurs while he was stabbing the guy). And in 2008, at USP Big Sandy, Randy Shreve assaulted another inmate a received 18 more months tacked onto his sentence. I do not know the details of the offense.

Who Are Some Of The DWB Legends?

When I read this question I laughed my ass off. Legends? Perhaps there is a few that are legends in their own minds, but legends there is not. But I will give a few of those who I know their props...

If there is one DWB who comes close to a legend its DB. I will admit that he is one of my best friends and that may seem a little bias of me, but he really is the most notorious DWB in the feds. Not only did he call the shots at Lewisburg after I left, the boy can fight something fierce. I have run into people both here at Butner FCI 1 and across the street at the FMC (prison hospital) never met DB but they all had stories to t about him. I really miss the fag. KL is also someone I miss and although he screwed my life up by getting me involved in the DWB's in the first place, I forgive him. He's been out for about four years now and I hear he's doing great. Windel “Wilbur" Rigsby was someone that really use to piss me off but he did love being a gang member and was true until the very end-- with only one week to go he until he got out of prison he volunteered to go on a mission and handled it. He's been out since 2006 and he married a fat girl and lives in the mountains of Tennessee somewhere. Tracy Carson or “TC" ran the USP Florence car for a minute and our paths crossed in 2002. We spent about three years at Lewisburg together and when he went home I knew he was coming back - he robbed a bunch of banks and just got a fresh 25 year sentence. Randy Shreve always made me laugh, “Cisco" was (is) a trooper, “Early" is a riot, and Billy Weston got out and I heard he met a chick and is staying out of trouble - shocker. Otto, Mark Dunlap, Weasel, Johnny Rotten, Scott Tolly, Jeremy Ites, Robert “Head" Rasnick, Spaz, Kam, Dago Joe. Ronny Wiggins, Jersey, Tank, and Jerry Mare are all names worth mentioning. I know I'm forgetting some but that's all I can think of for now.

Is there anything else that you would like to add?

As a matter of fact there is, when I joined the Dirty White Boys I was 31 years old, strung out on alcohol and drugs, trying to figure out what to do with a Life sentence, and in a very different state of mind. If I said that there weren't times when I absolutely had a blast being apart of the gang, I would be lying, the flip side of that is that I've had a lot of miserable times being a DWB as well. Specifically, I hated constantly having to put out fires that were started by my own people, guys that were often totally in the wrong and pulled some scandalous shit but I had to stick up for them because we share the same tattoo.

I have been away from all the DWB's for nearly three years, sober for two years, and I'm so far removed from that life mentally, that I don't even think about it and certainly don't miss it. For the first time in my life I am focused on myself, my family, my writing, my health, and world events. Politically, I even went from being a moderate to liberal democrat to a conservative republican and I've never felt so passionate about something in my life. (No, I don't want to see Obama fail as a person but I most certainly do not like his politics or political views - and I’m a person who liked him in the beginning, sent a campaign contribution to him, and was happy to see him win. In closing, I want who ever is reading this to know that I've written a memoir based on the time I spent in Leavenworth and it's the real deal -drinking, druging, gang-banging, assaults, and basically, just having a blast in a maximum security prison. My intension is to publish it through Gorilla Convict sometime next year. Also, I write a blog on Convict Inc.com and I hope you'll check me out. I write about everything - and I do mean EVERYTHING.

Some of Rob Rosso's writing from ConvictInc.com.

Wine's Cheap, Ball's Deep

I was in the hole living in cell A-220 with Kenny Lassitter, a guy who was not only one of my brother's but the shot-caller of our gang, the Dirty White Boys. Our days were very routine: Wake up around 6:00 AM, eat breakfast, then either go back to sleep, go out to rec, or stay in and read; eat lunch around 11:00; workout in cell from 1:00 to 2:30, take showers, then start to drink - I ain’t talking about water. After dinner, the automatic cell door would slide open and off to work I'd go.

I was an orderly on A Range.

As the A range orderly, my official work detail included sweeping and mopping the floors (upstairs and down; A-100 and A-200) and picking up the laundry bags. Rarely did I do anything. You see, the staff that worked in the hole at Leavenworth during the years that I was there (from Sept '98 to Oct '02) ran things how they wanted to, not how the warden wanted them to or how BOP policy mandates. As long as we didn't bother them they didn't bother us- they didn't give a shit what we did. Therefore, unofficially my job was to pass “kites"(notes) and contraband (tobacco, drugs, booze, weapons, etc.) from cell to cell, socialize, drink and do drugs, and to steal whatever I could out of the kitchen. Then depending on the officers that were on duty, we orderly's were sometimes allowed to make unmonitored and unrecorded phone calls from the Lieutenant's office. I normally used mine to broker drug deals on the street.

So what I'm trying to say is, the hole in Leavenworth was pretty fucking awesome - punishment it was not.

One night while I was out and about doing my thing, I decided to head on down to B 100 and check on three of my brothers, Randy Shreve, Jeremy Ites, and Wilbur Rigsby. They all lived in cell B113 together. A week earlier I had given them half of what I had taken from the kitchen - 400 apples. Ad some sugar and water to that, which they did, and they had enough fruit to make 20 gallons of hooch,

As I started down the stairs the aroma of homemade intoxicants and marijuana filled my nostrils. “Listen up", I announced on the range. “If anybody has anything for me to pass, set it out on the tray flaps and I'll be by in a minute to pick it up. Make sure you put the cell number you want me to bring it to on a piece of paper. And if anyone has any dope for sale, know that I got 20 books on me that are burning a whole in my sock". The books that I was referring to were U.S. postage stamps, not reading books. In Leavenworth, like many prisons throughout the United States, stamps are used as currency. At the time all 32 cents, 33 cents, and 34 cents stamps were worth a quarter, not their face value. So a book of stamps, which is 20 stamps, was worth $5.00. I had 20 books of stamps or $100 that I was trying to spend on dope, and I wasn't talking marijuana. In prison, “dope" is heroin.

"Rob! Come down here buddy, we need you". The person calling me was Randy Shreve. From the sound of his voice, I could tell that he'd been drinking.

Before I could reach their cell, a black dude named Double P stopped me. “Yo, Rob", he said through the open tray slot in the door. “Your Boys down there be havin' some drink for sale. Tell'em I'm tryin' to go but I aint got no money 'til store."

"I'll see what I can do", I said but had no intention of doing so.

"Come on man, Rob", he pleaded, sensing that I wouldn't be back. "I know them dudes don't be likin1 me much, but I'll be havin1 some stamps come store".

It's true - they didn't like Double P. Neither did I. He was a certified “Gunslinger", one of the thousands of sick fuckers in prison that can't control their sexual urges around female staff members. I also call them "Mad Jackers". "Maybe if you didn't run around jackin’ your dick in front of everybody people wouldn't hate you so much" , I said to him before I walked away.

When I got to cell B113, I looked in the window and saw Wilbur passed out on the bottom bunk, Jeremy sitting on the floor with a cup of wine in one hand and a rollie in the other, and Randy standing over the stainless steel sink-commode scooping wine out of a plastic trash bag that was sitting in the toilet. I bent down to the open tray-slot and said, “Daddy's here fuckboys. What'cha need?"

“Buddy!" Randy shouted, happy to see me. “Here, you've gotta try this shit. It's the bomb." He handed me a green 8 ounce plastic cup.

Without hesitation I slammed it. “Wow", I said feeling the homebrew burn my guts. "Good job. This shit's fire for real".

Next door, in cell B111, a guy named Trent who was looking at me through the tray-slot asked me to tell Randy to send him a "taster cup". Because their cell doors were only about two feet apart, and because they were both standing at their doors, Randy heard him. His response was "fuck Trent".

“What the fuck, Randy?" Trent shot back. “I'll pay for the goddamn shit if its straight. I just ain’t goin' through all that crazy shit with you like the last time you sold me some bunk".

"No money, no wine", Randy yelled back at him.

Before I go any further I should explain a few things about Trent. He was a convicted crack cocaine dealer from North Carolina that moved a lot of dope around inside Leavenworth. The problem with Trentt was that he could be a real asshole when it came to business. For example, if he was selling papers of dope for $40 (eight books of stamps) and you were so much as one stamp short, he wasn't giving you jack shit until you came back with the other stamp. If you were buying quantity from him, such as three grams of heroin for a thousand dollars, he wouldn't give you any of it until the money reached its destination. (When drugs in prison are sold in quantity, the money is almost always sent “street to street". Meaning, the buyer will have a person on the outside or in the “free-world" send the money to someone that the dealer knows on the street. Rarely is quantity purchased with prison currency, such as stamps.) Now, being asshole when you’re selling drugs in prison sometimes comes with the territory, and some would argue that Trent was being smart. The real problem with Trent taking such a position was that he wasn't cut like that - he was soft. He was a guy who would have never gotten away with selling drugs in a maximum security prison had it not been for all of his homeboys, and there were a lot of North Carolina Blacks in Leavenworth. Had there not been, he would've been robbed, beat, spanked and told never to come out of his cell. So when he'd not only deny a dope-fiend a fix when they were just penny's short but talk down to them for not bring all the money, he really made a lot of guys want to hurt him. I can't begin to tell you how many times that I've been in a cell where guys were talking about robbing him.

“Aint no fun when the rabbits got the gun, is it Trent?" I said,
laughing at him. "Now your sorry ass knows what it feels like to want,
be treated like shit, and forced to pay up front."

“All that noise you be talkin' ain’t for me and you Rob", Trent said. “Besides, lookie, lookie what I have here." In his hand were three little aluminum foils. "Now tell me, how does it feel to want?"

"I knew you had dope on you when they brought you in last week you piece of shit", I said. "Why'd you lie to me?

Trent smiled. "We can forget all the small talk. You want the shit or not? If you do, give me them 20 books that I heard you flappin' your gums about and hook me up with a cup of that wine that you callin' 'fire'. If the shits straight, I'll take a G (gallon) and I'll give you all three of these. If it ain’t, I'll give you two for twenty."

"Bet", I said with a quickness. I reached into my sock, pulled out the stamps and slapped them down on his tray flap, Turning to Randy I said, “Fill me up a cup for this greedy fuck over here and get me a gallon ready for him". I then looked at Jeremy and told him to get the “outfit" (syringe) ready.

“You've got dope?" Jeremy asked springing up from the floor. “Lemme get some, brother".

"Just get the outfit ready and grab a spoon and some cotton", I said. “I've got a paper comin' for me, one for Kenny, and you and Randy can have one for the gallon as long as Trent wants it. You guys can split it."

Randy, who acts very child-like and at times sounds like Barney (the Purple Dinosaur) on helium, shouted, shouted, “Yay, Buddy! I love shootin’ dope!"

Now is probably a good time to talk a little more about Randy.

Born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, Randy was serving an 11 year sentence for bank robbery. A crackhead at heart, he came to Leavenworth in 2000 and joined the Dirty White Boys shortly thereafter. But his joining the gang didn't sit well with some of the members. They thought he lied to much and that he was to much of a clown. And both he was; his pathological lies were as frequent as his comedy skits. I've seen Randy get drunk, strip off all of his clothes, get down on all fours and scramble down the tier doing butt naked Donkey kicks, complete with “hee-haw" noises as he did. I've been in the cell with while he smoked crack and sang “Jingle Bells" at the same time (Randy loves Christmas music, and I mean LOVES it). I've seen him make paper arrows while he was in the hole, light them on fire, and intentionally shoot them out the window onto a courtyard full of dead grass and hay. When the flames shot up two stories high and the smoke started rolling in the cell windows and causing guys to choke, he laughed out loud like The Joker. Yes, I've seen Randy do hundreds of totally out there crazy things, including piss in a cup of wine and use his dick to stir the mixture around.

A cup of wine that he then handed to me, and I then handed to Trent.

"Mmm, mmm, mmm," Trent said when he tasted the piss-tainted hooch. “Lemme get that G , Rob, This shit is fire for real for real".

Do you know how hard it was for me to watch — a— man unknowingly drink wine with urine in it, say it was good, and keep a straight face? And keep in mind that in the cell next door - a cell that I could see into as Trent was doing this as well - Randy and Jeremy were Laughing their asses off.

I said Randy, “Trent wants that gallon now".

Even louder laughter erupted from their cell. "Come right up, Buddy!" Randy exclaimed.

“What's them fools over there laughing about?" Trent asked me. I told him that they were just being stupid.

What Randy did next made me lose it; I actually had to get up and walk away for a second. As I already mentioned, the trash bag that he had the wine in was sitting in the toilet bowl. The reason that we all put wine in the toilet when we're in the hole is because when you're dealing with more than a gallon it gets hard to handle. By placing the bag in the toilet we can easily scoop cups of wine out of it without needing anyone’s help. Otherwise, if you don't want to spill any, it takes two guys - and that's that usually two guys to many when we start drinking. If you remove all of the water out of the bowl (with a cup) before you place the trash bag inside, the bowl holds about four gallons. And that’s about the amount that Randy had in theirs. The reason that I know this is because from where I stood I could clearly see that wine was about a half inch from the rim. Therefore when Randy pulled down his pants and sat on the bowl, the wine was just high enough to make loud bubble-noises when he dropped his ass in it and farted.

Randy then started singing Tiny Bubbles: “Tiny bubbles/In the wine/ makes me feel happy/makes me feel fine."

As if that weren't enough, Randy stood up, straddling over the toilet, and peed in the wine. That's when I started laughing so hard that I had to get up and walk away for a second.

“Wine for sale! Get you're wine for sale!" Randy called out on the tier. “The wines cheap down here, Buddies, 'cause we're ball's deep in the stuff".

After giving Trent his gallon of fart-infested piss -wine, I did a shot of dope then ran around selling what was left of it to guys that we didn't like. And yes, that Mad Jacker named Double P got an issue of it.

Street Legends Volume 2 featuring Frank Matthews, Peanut King, Michael Fray, the Boobie Boys, Short North Posse and New World comes out December 2009

Order Street Legends Vol. 1 today

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 plus shipping & handling or request it at a bookstore near you.

ORDER PRISON STORIES TODAY

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GC: What do you think of the recent books on the Eme like Tony Rapheal's Mexican Mafia, Boxeter Enriquez's The Black Hand?

RM: No disrespect, but Tony Rapheal's The Mexican Mafia is a good recent case study of the Avenues street gang based on court transcripts, but does not paint a complete picture of La eMe and their ties to hundreds of other street gangs over the years. It also misses, in my opinion, many of the very early crime elements and important eMe figures that were investigated by the Gang Task Force. Boxer Enriquez's book, The Black Hand, written with renowned television investigative reporter Chris Blatchford does a better job of showing the various ties between La eMe, street gangs, and how they operate on a daily basis inside and outside of the system, but Boxer was not around when many of the early eMe members were investigated. He does cover "Topo" Peters fairly well who was a mentor to Boxer but later despised by him as he learned of all the treachery done by fellow eMe.

GC: Have you ever read Tony Raphael's blog In the Hat? What do you think the Eme think of him reporting on him and his book?

RM: Tony Raphael's blog In the Hat, started off as a pretty good discussion board, but appears to have stopped posting. I do not believe the eMe were very concerned because most of the correct info posted on his blog and in his book are already pubic info and court record.

GC: Do you see more American me type stuff happening in this day and age with the Internet and all the info on the Eme available?

RM: American Me, which several eMe and Gang Task Force members were advisors to, was a good thing and a bad thing. It was more accurate than say Blood In, Blood Out, but also has some discrepancies such as when they show La eMe killing the real Santana, "Chy" Cadena on the tier at Chino's Palm Hall. That did not happen! He was killed by Nuestra Familia. Gang Task Force members advised against the Film's Producer and Actor Edward James Olmos putting that in as well as the sodomy scenes, but it appears he thought it would have more Hollywood box office appeal and left it in. As a result some eMe and a former Associate were killed. Olmos also had threats on his life, so future Directors may not want to touch the subject, or at least not use real gang names for fear of retaliation.

There is a lot of info on the eMe available, but a lot of is flat out wrong, people mix apples and oranges, California eMe with Texas EME, etc. Good websites with good info are available, such as Gabe Morales' site Gang Prevention Services or articles written in Police Magazine by eMe expert Richard Valdemar, or DOJ Official Press Releases.

Some of the info out there is really bad, people should check the background of authors. Most of these people never met or personally dealt with eMe, they just heard about them.

GC: Has your life ever been threatened because of your book? Explain.

RM: If an author or gang investigator sticks to the truth and only puts out info that can be proven in court, has actual pictures, and relies on good informants and validated criminal justice info then they should not be worried about being threatened. eMe know the real facts!

GC: Who are the most powerful Eme members today and where are they located?

RM: Many of the Original eMe members are dead, there are a few early members still around like "Champ" Reynoso, "Rube" Soto, "Blackie" Segura, etc. There are also newer ones like Francisco "Puppet" Martinez from 18th Street and La eMe, "Huero Sherm" Leon and "Bat" Marquez from San Diego. Many are locked down in the BOP-ADX or at Pelican Bay.

GC: What was Joe Morgan like?

RM: Joe Morgan (deceased) was one of a kind. He was named the "Honorary Godfather" by Chy Cadena. Morgan's time in California Prison predated La eMe, he had ties to the Aryan Brotherhood and Italian Mafia. He was always respectful to staff who actually dealt with him. He did not like the name "Pegleg", very few said that to his face, and lived. He was pretty close to the character shown as "J.D." in the movie American Me. Even though he was white he grew up in Maravilla and knew the culture. He was deadly, but already made his bones early in life, other people would kill for him or even take the rap for him. No other Mexican Mafia member has ever had the power that Papa Joe did. While the Mexican Mafia is supposed to have no overall leader, and in theory every Carnales' vote is supposed to be the same, some like Joe had "la palabra pesada", their word and opinions carry more weight, people who disagree often end up being on bad terms with La eMe or end up dead.

GC: What were the original Eme like compared to the Eme today?

RM: The original eMe like Chy Cadena and "Huero Buff" Flores or relatively early eMe like Joe Morgan were a different breed, it has been said they were like the "Coke Generation". Later members who joined like "Boxer" Enriquez have been called the "Pepsi Generation". Many of the ones around today are more like the "Sprite Generation" but there are still some Old School left in La eMe. There are still some killers, but as they have grown, many of the old rules about honor and respect have gone away. Many former eMe stated that is why they left after feeling disillusioned. Of course, many also left eMe for their own selfish reasons.

Street Legends Volume 2 featuring Frank Matthews, Peanut King, Michael Fray, the Boobie Boys, Short North Posse and New World comes out December 2009

Order Street Legends Volume 1 Today

]]> Sat, 26 Sep 2009 00:57:10 GMT http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/comments.php?id=66 ]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=66 <![CDATA[Arthur "Plex" Pless]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=65

“Ain’t nobody pen’in like us man,” is Badland Publishing’s motto and they’re right. Most urban authors claim straight out the hood but Badland’s authors are straight out the penitentiary. They didn’t research the dope game on the Internet, they lived it. They are the real deal. Authentic as it gets. They are the ghetto superstars that the rappers rhyme about. There aren’t any cardboard gangsters on Badland’s roster. Many claim authenticity but Badland guarantees it.

Their author Plex, who wrote Boo Baby: The Secret of Sweet Donnie Mac, is doing a life sentence in the feds for the part he played in the notorious M.I.YAYO crew dubbed the Boobie Boys. But now 12 years into his bid Plex is writing gangster tales instead of living the tales he pens. Plex is the truth and Badland with their roster of convict authors like Plex and Mike Harper are primed to put the book game in a chokehold. Check out this exclusive with Plex, straight from the belly of the beast, USP Coleman II.

What made you start writing books?

I wrote it because I could. A lot of people chose to stay within their comfort zone, you feel me? I could’ve easily written about the bang-bang and the brick laying, but I wanted to do something different, something that they wouldn’t expect from Plex. I did something in Boo Baby that Miami dudes aren’t known for and still delivered the order.

What’s the book about?

The book is about me. It’s also about you, because everybody that was shaped by their environment is Boo Baby. My influence came from Derrick Ross, Big Daddy Conch, Whop and Bik Ike Hicks. Boo’s came from his sister Daphen- a hoe, and Pretty Black- a pimp. It ain’t no lawyers and doctors in Lil’ River or Robin Hood.

What’s up with Badland Publishing?

Badland Publishing is the Koch of the publishing game. It used to be a record label, so they run it as such. When Mike is the lane ain’t nothing else coming through. We all stop what we’re doing and lend our thoughts, pens and fan base. One mind, one book at a time. You feel me?

How did you get with them?

I used to be on Badland’s record label. I was the record label. Not because I was a real rapper, but because I was a real dude and I kept it real. People love me, dude! Because I love ’em right back. Plus I grind extra hard and I bring that same level of energy to books and the people who read them.

What do you think of the urban genre?

I think its love. It’s just like the rap game, sports or whatever else black people get into. They try to hold us out, so it forces us to create our lane. We relate to the shit so we support it. We start making money and the world is forced to accept it. I love it! Because it’s another form of expression that allows us to eat off of the expression without actually doing the shit that we’re expressing. Yet just like hip-hop we have got to keep it real. And I don’t mean live your books! That ain’t keeping real, because even though real life situations are in the books, that’s not a real smart way to live your life. Keeping it real is explaining that these books are entertainment and not real life examples of what life should be. You feel me?

Who are you and where are you from?

I’m Plex, man, that’s it. I’m every character in every book I write because I’ve seen a lot. I regret a lot, so I write about what I wish I could’ve been. I’m from Lil’ River, straight of 103rd. Silver Blue, the Colors, the Diamonds, all that. A lot of people get it fucked up with Liberty City, but it ain’t. It’s no hoes, cause ain’t no hoes around there. Just bread getters and head hitters, so I write to stay relevant and hopefully leave the lil dudes that look up to me with something other than the streets as a way out.

What’s next?

I have Street Raised: The Raw Deal, Part 2 to Mike Harper’s Street Raised: The Beginning, and Served: With no Regard, popping off this year. They pushed Buckin’ Da Dice back for whatever reason but I’m working with my main man out of New Orleans, Jessie Cage, on a fire project called Mistaken Destiny. Whether it comes out on BLP or not look out for it because it’s Plex approved. You heard me?

What authors do you like?

I’m feeling Mike Harper, Jessie Cage and Nathen Welch above all. But outside the camp it’s definitely Robert Beck, Walter Mosley, Guy Johnson, J.D. Salinger, Kwame Teague and um..Plex.

Anything else?

Buy my book! If you love yourself, you’ll love Boo Baby and if anybody reading this runs into my lil homegirl Tonetta Chester or Amie Whinehouse tell ‘em to get at me asap.

Check out www.badlandpub.com

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Order Street Legends Today

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

ORDER PRISON STORIES TODAY

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Mike "Chico" Harper

New writer Mike Harper arrives on the scene with a well scripted tale of one boy’s plight to gain mastery over privation. Though a work of fiction, he writes of this common occurrence in our inner cities with uninhibited exposure to graphic truths. The story begins in Miami, claiming it to be “the city of growing hustlers.” As a result of limited options and no proper guidance the book’s main character Chino, finds himself succumbing to that precept. The wretchedness of being part of society’s underprivileged is what mandates the calling. Chino answers and he answers hard. Bringing along some equally disadvantaged youths, Chino ascends through street life, becoming as legendary as the historic American gangsters of our time. Street Raised: The Beginning is sure to solidify Harper as a recognized name in the Urban-Street Literature genre.

Harper writes from a prison cell. Once a co-founder and aspiring young rapper on the Southern-based Badland Records. (Also home to Plex Nitty, Black Boy, Chrizac, DirtySouth Players, and Big Will) The future looked promising for Mike “Chico” Harper and label, until in 1997 a special federal task force was put together to arrest a loose band of childhood associates (erroneously dubbed), The Boobie Boys. With the label now struggling and short on its top artist, management reached out to Mike Harper to pen his life’s story. “People were really interested in my situation. Street Raised is not my actual life story, but it is what I was willing to provide, its close enough,” said Harper.

This book has been making its way through the underground scene for the past three years. “This is our fourth run with Street Raised. It’s that book in the hood and prison system. So we decided to have it edited again, redesign the cover and go mainstream with it,” said Tracey Carter, Co-President of Badland Publishing. Here is the Mike Harper Gorilla Convict interview.

Why did you write Street Raised?

I was propositioned to do a story about my criminal case. I didn't think the time was right for that, so instead I used the opportunity to pen out Street Raised: The Beginning. It's a similar circus of events. Based on my realities but exaggerated for maximum entertainment. The actual book on my criminal case will be coming after my legal affairs are resolved.

What is the book about?

Realities inside our inner cities. Most importantly though the immediate options we face in the hood when we're searching for a solution to deprivation, which is way too often selling dope, robbing, or stealing. From a female's perspective; selling sex. hooking a d-boy or scheming. Consequently, violence is automatically attached to these options (or perceived solutions). I paint a graphic picture of the details involved with this truth. Street Raised: The Beginning is a classic because of these graphic truths that I depict.

What is up with Badland Publishing?

They're new in the publishing game, but it's an old company. Music was initially their thing.

How did you get down with this publisher?

I had a previous rapport with them from the music business. I'd like to think that my talent was impressionable, which is why when the company decided to do books they reached out to me. They were amongst the first to proposition me to script a book on my criminal case, so when I decide to pen it that's who'll publish it.

What do you think of the street lit game?

The street lit game is much like the music industry. It provides equal opportunity for our culture of people to express their talent. For me it's an outlet to go on doing what I love, which is articulating my views on our culture. Because of my situation I can never give the world a rap album. Even if I win my pending appeal I'm too old for a rap career. But in this similar game of street lit I can go on presenting my craft without any pressure of fitting the mold. It's a vehicle to stay in the game.

Who are you, where are you from and what's your current situation?

I'm a person that refuses to give up. I believe in being positive and productive at all times. Under any circumstances. Even in my darkest hour. I'm from M.I.YAYO. Lil' River representa'. Currently I'm a decade into a life sentence. My fight for freedom continues. At this very moment I'm awaiting an answer from the district court of appeals.

What's next for you as an author?

I've written hundreds of songs. I've written four books Incorporated is coming next. Perhaps in January 2010. My next project is penning out screenplays. That doesn't mean that the books will stop. I have several more already visualized in my head. I'll definitely keep the heat coming. I'm just planning to broaden my writing.

Describe your writing style?

As I referenced earlier I think "graphic truths" describes my art best.

What authors do you admire?

There's a few that I can say I like, such as Sister Souljah, Noire, David Baldacci (he doesn't write street lit). As far as admire...you know I'm a big fan of my lil brother Plex' pen. It'll be fair to say I admire Walter Mosely and of course Iceberg Slim and Donald Goines.

Anything else?

Badland Publishing "Ain't Nobody Pen'in Like Us Man!" That's a true bill. I set the standard with Street Raised. Plex is about to take it over the top with Boo Baby: The Secret of Sweet Donnie Mac. Check for it. And for those who didn't believe, who quit and thought the value of a man depletes when he's incarcerated...may you awaken one day and realize that some of the most valuable gifts are found in the center of confinement. Such as a diamond inside coal, a pearl inside an oyster, or man inside a prison. It's your loss.

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Order Street Legends Today

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 or request it at a bookstore near you.

ORDER PRISON STORIES TODAY

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 or request it at a bookstore near you.

ORDER PRISON STORIES TODAY

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Golden Eight Ball

The Posse’s unofficial headquarters was Kelly’s carryout at 1521 North 4th Street. Its social club was the Golden Eight Ball pool hall at 222 East 11th Avenue. An illegal after-hours bar called the Juke Joint on East 9th Avenue between Grant Avenue and North 6th served as the gang’s distribution center where they could pick up cocaine and guns to sell in the neighborhood. “The name Short North Posse, it was a bunch of kids, but they went hard. They handled their business.” The local says. “There’s always been Crips there, then Folks came. The SNP was mainly Crips and Folks.”

The Posse formed in 1989 after a friend was shot in a drug trafficking incident. Robert “June” Dotson and Marshon Mays decided to band together to form a group that would offer protection to its members in the area directly north of downtown Columbus. They began selling crack on the north side in the 42 block area south of East 11th Avenue. It was nothing new. Crack had hit southern Ohio in 1984. But the youngsters coming up wanted to do it their way. Dotson and Mays then came up with the name Short North Posse to describe their clique. Gang members bought hats and shirts with the letters SNP on them. After Therhan Jones was wounded in a shooting by a competing gang the SNP became even more determined to keep outsiders from their territory. It was a get mine or be mine mentality.

The group of street level dealers were tried and tested gangstas who ran a retail operation in their hood. Representing and holding it down for their area. Due to the government’s and media’s propaganda several myth’s have been perpetrated as truth. As the dude from the era says, “That shit was printed to get them convicted. Myth #1- they didn’t terrorize residents. Actually when the feds came in there was a lot of protest from the Short North natives, young and old, black and white. Myth #2- the Short North Posse did not rob people. They were gangsta’s. It was the crackheads robbing other crackheads. The reality of it is that the SNP are legends in the city for being real dudes, not bitch ass niggas.” From their inception the SNP aspired to protect their hood and to prevent anyone from outside the Short North from selling crack in the neighborhood.

http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/upload/ant3.jpg

Anthony "Ant" Gibbs

“Most of those Short North dudes were gangbangers,” the local says. “A lot of weed, everybody was smoking that weed. They was on the corners hanging. You couldn’t go up in there. They lived up in the rowhouses with their babymamas. They was young boys, but they held it down. They were like baby gangstas. The dudes that had the biggest names were Trouble, Ant and Fridge.” They were the dudes in the Short North that were getting big props at that time. Theirs were the names that were ringing. And because of our reputation in the streets those are the dudes we talked to.

What was the SNP about?

Lamont “Fridge” Needum: I love my hood til this day. Short North. Just saying the noun makes me want to throw four fingers in the air. Anyone fortunate enough to be there in its glory will tell you ain’t nothing like it. The air, the buzz. I honestly think the place is haunted because it’s something about the Short that makes folks excel from Ohio State University football to street niggas getting it.

Anthony “Ant” Gibbs: The Short North Posse was a group of people that all grew up in the same neighborhood and went to the same school coming up.

What was your neighborhood like?

Fridge: Short North is just what it says it is, the shortest part of the north side coming off of downtown. Columbus is the largest city in Ohio. Columbus is full of all the things that make cities pop, but the mentality of Columbians is- come, kick it, then get the fuck out.
Ant: It was like a well netted family that didn’t take no shit from anybody and always had each others back no matter what. We took care of our own whether they were nine months old or 99-years-old. We were one big family.

What types of things were you exposed to growing up in that neighborhood?

Fridge: Regular hood shit but if an old person wanted to walk the streets of the short at midnight for no apparent reason they were free to do so and not only were they not bothered, nobody else better not fuck with them, that’s how it went down. It was beautiful to see black men standing for one love and one hood. Ant: Just like any other hood I was exposed to just about everything from pimping, robbery, the dope game, beat down, murder but most importantly loyalty.

Fridge, Ant and their crew were from the old school of thought. They didn’t disrespect old folks or mess with kids. They protected their own. The youngsters banded together and went to war with outsiders to keep their hood sucker free. It wasn’t a matter of selling crack, making money or none of that, although that played a part, it was more about neighborhood pride, representing to the fullest and holding it down for everyone that lived there.

It was about holding down the neighborhood but then again it was about so much more. “They was young and thuggin’ like a muthafucka,” the local says. “It was money, cash, hoes but more than anything they was violent niggas.” And their violence was directed at any fools blatant enough to try to sell crack in their hood. The dudes from Detroit, Indiana and other places all tried to muscle in and set up shot but they were all sent running. Short North didn’t bow to anyone.

What was your all’s mentality and attitude?

Fridge: If you brought your ass in the short to put your goon hand down that ass was toast, no exceptions. Our turf was our domain. My old ass will always rep the short side of town for life. I’m not the same guy I was before. As you grow, your priorities shift, but surviving the bloody years of the short makes me a strong man. Short North for life.

Ant: My mentality was shit first and eat later. I was just one of them laid back niggas that you didn’t cross.
Feds: What kind of clothes, footwear, whips and the likes were you all rocking?

Fridge: I know folks read this book to hear about cars and jewels and bitches and shit, but I can’t find it in my heart to come with that. Those are merely the residuals of the game. What I loved more than anything about the Short North I lived in was the unity amongst its people, young and old, black and white.

Ant: Back then there wasn’t really a dress code, but you could find niggas rocking Polo, Tommy, Coogi, Guess, Nautica, Gucci, Nike shoes, Bally’s, Tims, Gators. Really you could find a nigga in just about everything that was in style back then. New cars, Vets, Iroc’s, old schools, Benz’s, Lex’s, Regals, Caddies, Monte Carlos. When we roll, you knew it was us.

Fridge: I was wearing platinum when niggas assumed it was silver. Styles haven’t really changed in the last 15 years, cause young niggas just do what we did with more glitter. We had all the flash, but it’s so lame now. That shit is outdated and overrated. The things that impress me are integrity, proper displays of valor, little black kids striving to be great, real love, not that canned shit.

“There was a lot of hype. They started making big noise in 1990,” the local says. “All you would really hear was its getting wild over there. Fourth and 8th was where shit was jumping off and shit could get violent real quick.” Dudes were known to get robbed too. Even a federal agent. In the first month of the probe into the Short North Posse’s activities Rodney Russell, an undercover agent from the U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms allegedly was robbed at gunpoint by Fridge who was 18 at the time. Fridge allegedly walked out of an apartment and pointed a Tec-9 semiautomatic pistol loaded with a 32 round clip at Russell’s head and cocked it.

But locals dispute this. That’s the government and media line they say. What they sold to the masses to create a media storm that assured the SNP would be assumed guilty until proven innocent. “The biggest myth created by the feds in the whole case is that the ATF agent got robbed,” the dude from the era relates. “Rodney Russell was a crackhead who smoked up all the feds money and then started lying about being robbed to conceal his smoking activities. That dude was dirty. I was there. He was smoking.” And in his crack induced haze the agent invented a robbery scenario and pinned it on Fridge.

“At first I thought he was going to try and sell it to me. Then he pointed it at my head and put his hand on my shoulder. This guy weighs over 300 pounds.” Russell said. For a few tense seconds Russell said he believed that Fridge was going to kill him. “I thought someone had tipped him off that I was an undercover agent and I was finished.” Russell said creating the scenario for the papers. He said later that he kept his hand on his gun, which was hidden beneath his untucked flannel shirt, throughout the incident to portray himself as the cool ATF agent under pressure.

“You’re too busy thinking about your options to be afraid,” Russell said playing the hero role. “I didn’t want to take him down. I was thinking if I shoot this guy now it’s all over. We’d have to shut down the investigation.” To hear Russell tell it he kept his cool and allowed Fridge to lift more than $400 from his shirt pocket. But the dude from the era tells a different story. “Fridge sold the agent crack at his spot but he didn’t rob nobody. The nigga’s like 350 pounds. Nobody looks like him, why would he rob somebody at his own spot. All Fridge did was snatch dudes shirt pocket off because he saw a list with beeper numbers sticking out. He thought dude was five-O and wanted to see whose beeper numbers he had.” Russell’s boss Don Mapley, Chief of Columbus’ ATF laughed about the incident afterward. “The biggest mistake they made was robbing him. That made him more determined than ever to get these guys.” But was it all done under a crack induced haze of an investigation?

The state and federal governments continued conducting their extensive undercover investigation with Agent Rodney Russell of the ATF leading it. Russell prowled some of the meanest streets of the North side, making almost 100 drug buys from Posse gang members. From April 1994 until March 1995 Russell bought $40,000 in cocaine from Posse dealers and smoked a lot of it. “These guys are very aggressive," Commander Nick Panzera of the Columbus Narcotics Bureau said. “We’re supposed to target the most violent offenders. We key in on quality targets, the armed career criminals and narcotic traffickers. We’re finding more and more drug dealers are involved in street robberies and sometimes we are the victims of these rip-offs.” And the feds found it was hard to identify SNP members because they all went by street names.

“Street names allow them to remain anonymous. They cause a bit of a problem for us identifying people." ATF Chief Mapley said. The dealers rarely used their real names and matching nicknames with actual identities often took months of investigation. Still the ATF persevered. With one of their own allegedly robbed at gunpoint they weren’t giving up at all. “It’s a macho thing with some of them. We found out Antwan Woods was known as Trouble and he tried to live up to that name. Lamont Needum was known as Fridge because he was as large as a refrigerator.” ATF Chief Maply said. But in truth the ATF chief had it wrong. The local corrects him. “That name was given to Fridge out of respect by his niggas because of his athletic abilities. He got that name when he was nine.”

Police and federal agents were intent on smashing the Short North Posse though despite the obstacles. Actually they went after them with a fever. And the youngsters made it easy for them by wearing SNP t-shirts and hats that included the language ‘Death Row’ and ‘Caps get peeled’ along with images of tombstones and references to shootings, openly in their hood. Because being a member of the gang was an honor in the hood. The SNP thought they had everything on lock but the feds had other ideas.

“These guys are well aware of what they’re involved in. If they’re going to use guns and we find out about them, they’re looking at a severe hit.” ATF Chief Mapley said. "When it goes federal they’re in for a big shock. This isn’t state court. If they don’t like the sentences that are being handed out they need to find another vocation.” At the end of the investigation an associate of the SNP identified Russell as a federal agent but by that time he had been buying drugs from the gang for 10 months. Everybody thought he was just another crackhead. “They didn’t know whether to believe their own informant.” Russell smirked. During one cocaine buy Big Fridge became suspicious of Russell. He asked the undercover agent, “Are you a cop?” But Russell didn’t answer. Fridge turned to the crack addict who had introduced Russell to Posse members, “If he’s a cop, I know where you live.” But by the time the SNP found out for certain it was too late. The crackhead agent had enough info to get them indicted.

Authorities found a cache of handguns in a September 1994 raid at Woods’ home at 690 East 4th Avenue and they confiscated many semiautomatic handguns and assault rifles during their investigations along with all the buys that Russell made. On March 23, 1995 a federal grand jury charged 46 people with a total of 210 federal charges of drug dealing, money laundering and illegal use of guns. The newspapers were about to up the ante with a series of headlines portraying the Short North Posse as vicious thugs and hoodlums who terrorized their neighborhood. But in reality it was much different. “The Dispatch disrespected the shit out of those kids, especially Fridge. Those kids are stand up niggas. They held it down and stayed true. The whole indictment was some straight bullshit.” The dude from the era says.

46 Face Federal Drug Charges; Lawmen Round Up Reputed Short North Posse Members, The Columbus Dispatch reported on March 21, 1995. They were arrested without incident in night and morning raids on North Side bars, houses, apartments and street corners. The raids were conducted by the Columbus police, U.S. Deputy Marshals and agents for the U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. The arrested were held without bail in the Franklin County jail. The arrest capped a one year investigation by local and federal undercover officers.

Tell us about the indictment and trial?

Fridge: It takes a conspiracy to create one and no one is better at doing that than the feds. Our problem was that we were too close to O.S.U. In 1993 an ugly incident took place. An Ohio State student was raped and killed behind the campus by an unknown pervert. Last year through DNA evidence the punk bitch was nabbed, his name is Jonathan Gravely. The state allowed this whore to cop to 25 to life. Me and the homies are pissed. That bitch did something unthinkable and he brought major heat on us. With all the shit popping in the hood it was the proverbial straw that broke the camels back. O.S.U. is Columbus. Something had to be done. First my cousin Jason (RIP) was killed in an accident in the Short, he was a linebacker at O.S.U. and then this. The powers that be had to show they were in control. That coupled with the visions of the prosperous and the Department of Justice’s mission to fill prisons under the Clinton Administration made us prime targets. Rather than find the sick motherfucker they decided to give 46 young black dudes over 300 years in prison. Everyone from the judge to the then mayor (Greg Lashtuka) were state alums.
Ant: Our case is really about politics. It’s a long story that Fridge touched on. The police needed a scapegoat so they sacrificed 46 blacks to kill two birds with one stone, so it was fucked up. I’m a drug dealer, so I knew I was guilty. The reason why I went to trial is to see if them hot ass niggas had the heart to look a nigga in the eyes while they testified and they had the heart. I couldn’t do nothing but grit and nod my head.

Tell us how you felt at trial?

Fridge: A black person should stand up every time they get the opportunity. Our lack of stick-to-it-ness is why we have no rights in federal court. A two point reduction for a selected few is not justice. People are being indicted for five grams of crack and being sentenced to life for kilos.

Ant: My hearing was fucked up. My PSI officer lied about the amount of drugs to boost my time, so they gave me 353 months. I was 19 at the time, so I didn’t think it was too bad until I went back to my cell and did the math.

Authorities described the Posse as one of the most vicious gangs in Columbus history. “When this happened it was big news,” the local says. "The news kept running stories about the SNP, hyping things up. The news was calling the SNP a violent drug dealing gang that could only be handled by the feds.” And one of the stories circulating in Columbus concerned the feds take down of Vickie Stringer’s drug ring, which precipitated the SNP’s fall.

Testimony during Vickie Stringer’s plea hearing revealed that her ring supplied cocaine for several Columbus area gangs, including the Short North Posse. Testimony during the plea hearing revealed that dealers bought large amounts of crack from Vickie Stringer’s smuggling ring and then sold the drugs to Posse street dealers. Stringer had already pleaded guilty to smuggling drugs to Columbus from New York. Terms of her plea bargain required her to testify as a government witness against members of her own ring and defendants in the Posse case. Carlos Hill also pleaded guilty. His plea bargain also called for him to testify as government witness against his fellow Posse defendants.

“For six years, this gang was terrorizing the neighborhood, spewing drugs on our streets,” U.S. Attorney Edmund Sargas said. “We were able to take action against them because of the high level of cooperation among law enforcement agencies. The deals were made often in broad daylight, in apartments and outside of commercial establishments. The Short North Posse literally took over the neighborhood with violence.” The government alleged that the goal of the group was to prevent anyone not living in the Short North from selling cocaine base there without permission. The government contended the SNP achieved this goal through threats and intimidation. The bulk of the government’s evidence would consist of testimony from cooperating witnesses, most of whom were alleged members of the SNP who had pleaded guilty and turned snitch.

The gang that stuck together to protect the neighborhood fell apart when the feds came after them and started talking football numbers. “The feds started picking all the kids up,” the local says. “We thought it was hype. The feds do large neighborhood sweeps in Columbus about every other year. But this time they were serious.” And armed with their snitches their game plan was tight, 46 suspects were indicted in the SNP drug dealing case but fewer than a dozen went on trial. A rash of guilty pleas kept most of the alleged members and associates of the North Side gang from appearing in the first floor courtroom of U.S. District Judge George C. Smith. Thirty-six Posse defendants pled guilty to a variety of drug and firearm related charges and a big majority of them turned snitch. Among those that stood up to face the charges were Antwan “Trouble” Woods, Lamont “Fridge” Needum, Chad “Boss Moss” Gibbs, Anthony “Ant” Gibbs, Robert Curtis, Donneto Berry, Richard “Manual” Hough and Jimmie Reed.

The most significant pleas came from Therhan Jones, a reputed leader of the gang and Raynard Wallace one of the gang’s cocaine suppliers. Terms of their plea agreements required both men to appear as government witnesses in the trial. Jones oversaw much of the gang’s day-to-day drug dealing, authorities said and Wallace brought large amounts of crack cocaine from Detroit and sold it to Posse members. Antwan Woods, another reputed leader of the gang maintained his innocence and went to trial. He was charged with seven felonies, including drug trafficking and firearm charges. Lamont Needum was charged with 8 felonies, including three gun charges. The most serious of which was his alleged robbery of the ATF agent who spurred on the case.

The government would argue that the SNP was a drug conspiracy. The defendants conceded that they were street level crack dealers but contended that the SNP was merely a neighborhood identification of a loose-kit group of friends and acquaintances, most of whom grew up in the Short North area. The guilty pleas left eight Posse defendants-charged with a total of 43 counts- to stand trial. The trial, which would last 6 weeks, commenced on September 27, 1995. Sixteen Deputy Marshals and courtroom security officers were assigned to provide security in the federal courtroom in Columbus.

Federal prosecutors laid out their case. They contended that the Posse had a monopoly on crack cocaine sales for six years in the 42-block area of the North Side called the Short North. Several members of the gang were making up to $10,000 every three days, agents testified. “They provided services 24 hours a day, seven days a week,” AUSA Salvador Dominguez said. He displayed scores of items of evidence including bags of crack, wads of money, gang t-shirts, six handguns and an assault rifle. Most of the bags of crack that Dominguez held up for the jury to view were worth only $30 to $50. “Crumbs of crack, perhaps," AUSA Dominguez said. "But guns are a part of crack dealing." The guns and drugs had been confiscated in raids on homes of some Posse members when they were arrested after the indictments. Other relevant evidence came from undercover officers, SNP members turned snitch and non-SNP drug dealers or users.

“It was easy money, quick and fast,” Robert “June” Dotson testified. As to the origins of the gang he explained how his friend got robbed. “We decided we're not going to let that happen again. We were going to stay together and protect each other.” Asked by AUSA Dominguez what would happen to outside drug dealers who invaded Posse territory Dotson said, “They’d get beat up, robbed. If you didn’t know nobody you weren't allowed out there.” The gang had no leaders and did not hold regular meetings, Dotson said. However members of the gang “did get together for informal discussions.” Also hatreds within the gang were put aside if a Posse member was threatened or got into trouble. “If anything happened to somebody you’d pull together even if you didn’t like him." Dotson testified. Dotson’s most damaging testimony was that he saw seven of the defendants selling drugs in the North 4th Street area between llth and 5th Avenues.

Quinton “Q Dog” Clausell testified but was vague about the times and locations of the defendants alleged narcotics dealing. Andrew Jackson though gave the most detailed description yet of cocaine selling by the defendants on trial in the case. Jackson named seven of the eight defendants standing trial as regular drug dealers in the area. Clausell told of beating people up. “I take it out on them. It all depends on how I feel. I beat them down.” Q Dog testified. Prosecutors stressed how guns played an important part in the Short North also. George Miller a 32-year-old crack addict testified that Antwan Woods brandished guns regularly. While complaining about police harassing his drug customers once Woods pulled a handgun from his pants and said he was sick of police hassling “my clientele,” Miller told the seven women, five man jury. Woods not only supplied Posse members with crack cocaine but also offered to sell them guns, George “Gee” Gladden a Posse dealer testified. Gladden said Woods offered to sell him firearms as they talked on an apartment porch along North 4th Street. “He would come to me and tell me, ‘I got the guns you need,’” Gee testified.

Posse members didn’t have any compunction about selling drugs near elementary schools, Jeremiah “Boogy” Berger, an 18-year-old former Posse member testified. He saw Hough selling crack across the street from Weinland Park Elementary at 211 East 7th Avenue, Berger said. A prosecution witness also recanted his testimony and said that federal authorities pressured him into lying about drug dealing activities by three defendants in the Short North Posse case. Defense attorneys said the surprise remarks of Reginald “Froggie” Crenshaw in U.S. District Court threw doubt on the testimony of the other government witnesses. “When you testified about Donneto Berry, did you lie?” Asked attorney George Luther. “Yes, sir,” Crenshaw replied. He gave similar answers to questions from attorneys for Reed and Hough. Luther also asked the witness, “You would have said anything they wanted you to say, wouldn’t you?” Crenshaw answered, “Yes, I had to say something. I was pressured for the whole testimony. I had no choice.”

Lawyers for the defendants argued that the SNP was not a gang and they claimed more importantly it was not a drug conspiracy. There was no business like distribution network, hierarchy of leadership or organization of members. The different members of the SNP claimed to have sold their drugs independently of one another, choosing their own locations, price points and working hours. Dennis Belli, Woods’ attorney said Woods grew up with many of the defendants and even considered some of them his friends, “but mere association doesn’t make a conspiracy.” While some of the defendants were friends others didn’t like each other, Belli said. “They engaged in turf wars,” he told the jury. “There was no particular leader. There was no chain of command.” Judge George C. Smith dismissed a total of seven charges against five defendants; Woods Needum, Reed, Curtis and Chad Gibbs, but they still faced a total of 25 counts.

“We’ve all heard stories about dope being used by everyone from three and 4-year-olds to grandmothers in the Short North side,” Steven Brown, Reeds attorney said. “But don’t hump all the evidence together.” He slammed the prosecution for putting a witness on the stand who testified about Posse members being involved in drug dealing and who later, as a defense witness, recanted his testimony. “Who are you going to believe government witnesses or government witnesses?” Brown asked. Judge Smith ruled that the jury should determine which version of testimony given by Reginald “Froggie” Crenshaw to believe.

After deliberating for nearly five days on November 8, 1995, the jury convicted seven members of the SNP on 34 drug dealing and gun charges. One defendant, Jimmie Reed, was acquitted. The defendants showed little emotion as the guilty verdicts were read. The judge characterized the Posse as one of the most dangerous gangs in Columbus’ history. U.S. Attorney Edmund Sargas praised the ATF and the Columbus Police Narcotics Bureau for their joint investigation. “The convictions say a lot about good solid police work, it shows by working together we can make the community safer.”

A federal judge imposed the stiffest prison sentences possible on the members of the SNP in April of 1996. The defendants were convicted by jury in the U.S. District Court of the Southern District of Ohio, George C. Smith presiding, of conspiracy, drug trafficking and firearms offenses. “This was a street gang that was a plague on the community,” the judge said. “They made life in the area unlivable. It is astounding to me the young age that some of you started dealing drugs. The brutality of threatening the life of an agent who was putting his life on the line in the war on drugs is untolerable.” The judge was livid and hell-bent for retribution on the SNP.

“The sentence, forty-six years and one month,” Fridge says. “I got a year for myself and one for all my co-defendants in what was the biggest gang conspiracy in Columbus history.” Anthony “Ant” Gibbs was sentenced to 29 years 5 months, Antwan “Trouble” Woods to 40 years, Richard “Manual” Hough to 22 years 6 months, Chad “Boss Moss” Gibbs to 33 years, Robert Curtis to 17 years and Donneto Berry to 10 years one month. “This is an indictment on the whole criminal justice system,” George Luther, Berry’s attorney said. “My client was a low level participant. This is an example of how the guidelines have disproportionably required judges to impose lengthy sentences that don’t fit the crime. All these sentences do is warehouse these young men. You can’t warehouse people and expect it to make a difference in the country’s drug problem.” But the war on drugs was in full effect and exerted its full force on the SNP.

“The gig was up. None of us really cared. Growing up in the projects was like growing up in prison. All my dudes were in with me so it was like my high school reunion on steroids. At six-foot-four and with a top-billing reputation in the streets and the joint, crying was not an option. My niggas expect better of me and I demand class of myself,” Fridge says. “We went to trial with an Ohio All Star defense team. We chopped their asses up, but nobody talks about that. Nobody talks about the good we done.” The feds were only spinning it one way. They wanted the SNP to go down and go down hard. They didn’t care about the community the SNP protected.

“Clearly people are getting fed up with violent crime. The judge sent a clear message, if you’re going to pick up a gun and use it in a violent crime, its going to be the biggest mistake of your life.” ATF Chief Mapley said. “The sentences were appropriate,” U.S. Attorney Sargus said. "The defendants were convicted of having played substantial parts in the conspiracy with a high level of personal involvement.” And ATF Chief Mapley added, “If you don't warehouse them, they’ll be back out on the streets doing the same thing. The money is too fast and easy." But justice would prevail at least to a point for the SNP, the sentences wouldn't stand.

Members of Drug Dealing Gang to Spend Less Time Behind Bars, The Columbus Dispatch reported on March 16, 2000. The stiff sentences imposed on seven members of the SNP were reduced because of a ruling by a federal appeals panel. The judges reversed a total of 12 convictions while upholding 21. The three-judge panel of the U.S. 6th Circuit Court of Appeals in Cincinnati found, “with respect to the other defendants the government’s evidence proved simply that these defendants independently sold a lot of drugs. No where do we see evidence that a specific defendant agreed to participate in the conspiracy.” The judges wrote.

“The case was bogus, I always thought they’d get some relief from the court/appeals.” The local says. “It was a trumped up drug conspiracy. You know how the feds do. They twist shit however it suits them.” Antwan Woods Attorney Dennis Belli said of the rulings, “It appears to be a general repudiation of the government’s theory that simply because individuals are selling drugs in a certain neighborhood that they're engaged in an organized conspiracy.” The appeals judges ordered Judge Smith to re-sentence the seven SNP members.

Tell us about the re-sentence?

Fridge: April 1999, two days before my birthday. I received a precious gift. The Dispatch announced that we had won our appeal. We all knew the conspiracy was pretty much a stunt. Shoot, three months grinding it out in trial proved that. I’m thinking new trial, but they didn’t grant a new trial. They re-sentenced me to 27 years.

Ant: The re-sentencing was cool, because I got the chance to see the posse again. We had beat the conspiracy along with a couple other charges, but we still got fucked. I was re-sentenced to 248 months.

His co-defendants got similar cuts. Hough to 19 years, Woods to 33, Curtis to 8, Boss Moss to 19 and Berry to 8. It was a victory but the defendants wanted more and they appealed to the judge who rejected their motions for leniency. “You were part of one of the most odious groups of criminals ever to exist in Franklin County.” The judge said. “The only thing the system can do is keep people like you off the streets as long as possible. You spread a slow death to many members of the community through your dread drugs.”

Big Fridge benefited the most because his gun convictions were overturned. The appeal judges ruled that Needum’s gun conviction be reversed because the weapon was not used in connection with drug dealing. The alleged armed robbery of the ATF undercover agent occurred after the drug sale. The feds were outraged. ATF Chief Mapley said, “This definitely undercuts the dangerous job Rodney Russell did. I’m shocked and dismayed." The feds couldn't leave it alone either. “Two weeks later the feds called in a favor from the state and had them drop an indictment on me.” Fridge says.

Needum was charged with aggravated robbery, robbery kidnapping and unlawful possession of a dangerous ordnance by Franklin County Common Pleas Court. “We want to make sure that he is in prison for as long as possible because we consider him a dangerous man,” Assistant County Prosecutor David DeVillers said. Talk about vindictive prosecution and what about double jeopardy? “If a prosecutor is going to press charges he isn't suppose to wait to see if you’re going to win the appeal five years later,” Fridge says. Fridge was facing fifteen to twenty-five years in the state. That is Amerikkan justice there, but it seems only to apply to people of color. Fridge ended up copping out to three years, so in reality the case was really weak. The state knew the testimony of the crackhead ATF agent wouldn’t hold up.

And as the Short North Posse members rotted in federal prison they watched as the unrighteous made money and fame off of their blood. With the release of Let That Be the Reason and the founding of Triple Crown Publications Vickie Stringer turned her life around after five years of prison and became rich and famous. After snitching on everybody she knew or even heard of in Columbus including her own brother, because she couldn't take the weight and do the time for her own crimes, Vickie Stringer was sentenced to five years in the feds. She wrote her book in prison but conveniently left out the part that she was one of the biggest snitches in Columbus’ history.

Vickie Stringer got busted in September 1994 and agreed to plead guilty and testify against others even her brother in exchange for reduced charges, the Columbus Dispatch reported. “Stringers information was found to be accurate and was corroborated by other confidential cooperating sources and independent investigation,” authorities said. “Everyone at the crib our own age knows what the deal is with her,” the dude from the era says. But people in other cities don’t. They are steadily reading and supporting her and Triple Crown Publishing as if they are really the epitome of the gangsta lifestyle that their books portray. When in reality the real gangsters, that she snitched on, are sitting in the penitentiary while she profits off their stories. And imagine how the dudes from the Short North Posse case felt doing decades of their lives in the pen as the person who caused their case to come about rocketed to hood rich and street star status off of their blood.

Tell us about Vickie Stringer and what happened with your case?

Fridge: Our case started a domino effect. Lames far and wide jumped on our case in an attempt to reduce their sentences. People lied about being our connects or getting dope from us or something to get a time reduction. Many of them couldn’t identify us in a lineup, but the first to tell can tell their own stories. I’ve stopped talking to homies because they mess with certain hot niggas and figure its cool, because they didn’t tell on us. Rats are spineless and their supporters are just as spineless.

Ant: Cases are like sequels to a book series, because one case leads you to the next. Because Rob Brondon got caught and he told on Vickie Stringer, she tell on niggas on her case, my case along with niggas on other cases. The shit goes on and on. A rat is a rat. There’s no justifying that. Now, the rats on our case most of them was niggas that brought me to the game. I guess you could say they took me out too. To name a few- Andy Jackson, Thomas Terry, Raynard Wallace, Robert “June” Dotson. Man, fuck them hot ass, bitch ass niggas. I’m not going to waste your ink on them.

Fridge: I’ll acknowledge the facts, but we’re not rappers. Real niggas don’t broadcast their business. Yeah, she bogus, yeah, he bogus, but that’s all I got to say. A warning to all those who may come into contact with so and so, but that’s it. That’s how real niggas operate.

On January 17, 2002, the appeals court ruled that SNP members could not get their prison sentences reduced a second time. So that was it, the gig was up. Appeal Judges Guy Cole, Karen Nelson Moore and John O’Meara decided one sentence reduction was enough. And as the years have passed the area the SNP once considered their territory has changed dramatically. “Some real estate and investors were interested in that area. $100 million was invested in that area. They had to devalue the property, create a high crime area,” the local says. “Since they got the SNP out of the way property values went up. It’s called gentrification. The legacy of the SNP is that of a group of young black men who were negatively exploited by the Department of Justice due to real estate and commercial interests.”

And in Columbus there was a big buzz after the prosecutions. “They were saying shit like they saved the Short North area from urban terrorism.” The local relates. “That’s some bullshit, the Posse was about their business but it wasn't any different then what went down in other hoods.” In reality was the neighborhood saved with the SNP convictions or were the SNP just a convenient group of young black males to take the fall so gentrification could occur? Being unconstitutionally locked down for a case that should have stayed on the state level. We will probably never find out for sure, but still we are here to salute the Short North Posse and the eight dudes that took the feds to trial and stood up.

What do you think your legacy is?

Fridge: It’s well known that we were not a threat to the university or our hood. We’re old school, we respected the turf. Yet they still caved in our little community, but there are reasons behind this that blacks aren’t looking at. It’s as easy as killing three birds with one stone. In the Clinton years he was responsible for the cleanup of NAFTA. All the factory jobs were pouring out of the country, but many of those jobs were replaced with prison industries, especially in rural areas. Blacks fill up those prisons. So here you have it. You indict whole neighborhoods of black males that are getting a little money, make them face doing life or telling on everyone they know, which causes a split in the unity forever. My legacy is as of yet unfulfilled.
Ant: Well, being that only eight of us took it to the box out of 46 I would say that we are respected and looked up to by few. The reason why I say a few is because if you are from a city that is filled with about 80 to 90 percent of hot snitch ass niggas what can we expect. Few stick to the street code, but a lot of them break like sticks.

How would you like to end this?

Fridge: Look around. Projects are being destroyed left and right. The trap I grew up in has trees and gates and shit, and at the bottom of the Short is $100,000 to $300,000 condos with more to come. Incarceration reduces the black populace, because incarceration is castration. HIV and Aids will take care of the rest. The state of black America is scary. But still I’m gonna be who I am. I slay dragons not talk them to death. Nobody cares about a grown ass man, which is what I am. They want to worship hot niggas and shit. I say let them have it. Niggas like us need to worry about one thing and that’s gathering real niggas. Connecting game on a boss level and wiping clean what you can when you can. I got to mention my man Sherman “Sugar Shack” Giles. Sherm is one of those real niggas that got out the way and didn’t roll his tongue. He was a big boy on the turf who chose to hold true. Much respect to him and all my other comrades. Real soldiers who go hard these days are a rare breed. I’m honored to associate with niggas on this level.

Ant: I’ve ran into a lot of good niggas that may never touch the streets again, so I would like to send respect to them- the posse, Big Fridge, Trouble, Richie Rich, Boss Hog, Sherman, Gangsta, Crusher, Dan Dan, Tom Cat, Style P, Too Short, Mike G, Sneeky Lord, Soup (Cuz), those Ohio Playas, Creed, Philly, Man, M and M, Bones, Cheeze and last but not least Larry B.H. and all the rest of the real niggas that took one on the chin and is still standing. Real eyes recognize real lies. Loyalty ain’t everything, it’s the only thing. Death before Dishonor.

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Check out what they are saying about Street Legends-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 or request it at a bookstore near you

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Check out what they are saying about Street Legends-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 or request it at a bookstore near you.

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Kilo's of cocaine and herion, millions of dollars of drug money, luxury customized cars, dime pieces galore, bling-bling to shine, multitudes of violence and vicious murder- these dudes were street stars and their lifestyles are what gangsta rap represents. Read their stories and ride shotgun with a hood legend.

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 or request it at a bookstore near you.

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]]> Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:25:10 GMT http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/comments.php?id=60 ]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=60 <![CDATA[The Anatomy of a Snitch]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=59

What constitutes a snitch? How far can one take it? When is telling not telling? In today’s world the lines aren't so clear cut and dried. Moral questions come into play such as obligations and family along with ideals such as integrity, honor and respect. The definition of a snitch is rat, informant or tattletale. The dictionary goes along the same lines- Snitch: 1) To turn informer, tattle. 2) An informer. The word came into usage in England circa 1775 and the origin is uncertain but the definition is clear or is it?

In today’s juxtaposed world of popular culture, the streets, hip-hop and the War on Drugs the word takes on several different connotations to different people, ethnic groups and social classes. But still a snitch is a snitch and as a society we've been conditioned to believe that nobody likes a snitch. From childhood parents teach their children not to tattle. The cops have their wall of silence, the military forces their secret tribunals, big businesses and CEO's abhor whistle blowers and criminals have their own code.

"The ideal of the stand up guy has always been the central element in the American underworld," one oldtime gangster says. "From the earliest immigrant groups people who refused to talk to law enforcement and were willing to do prison time if called for were admired for their toughness and loyalty. Being a stand up guy was like being a prince of the underwor1d and this attribute transcended ethnic lines." So gangsters and criminals off all creeds were expected to and rewarded when they kept their mouth shut and did their time. And snitches were marked for death for opening their mouths.

"Being able to accept your punishment for shit you get jammed for is important." Getto Boys rapper Scarface said in FEDS Magazine. "You gotta suffer the consequences. Fuck a snitch. A snitch might as well take a dick." And in criminal circles they say, "If you're gonna do the crime be willing to do the time." That is the ideal and any betrayal of that ideal is seen as snitching. The Mafia even has a word for the code-Omerta, the code of silence. What is done in the streets stays in the streets. Never talk to the police. Stand up guys take a position and maintain it when faced with adversity. Be it a life sentence of the death penalty. But the stand up guy was born of a time before RICO conspiracy laws, paid confidential informants and the Witness protection program.

"Back in the day when you got busted you could take the fall because even for murder you were only getting 2-7 years and 25 years was considered a life sentence," one DC convict says. "Going to prison was seen as a right of passage for criminals. If you did your bid, kept your mouth shut and came home your reputation in the city was enhanced. But now with the football numbers the feds are giving out dudes can't carry their weight and stand up. They could stand up for 5 but for 20? There’s only a few still built like that." And since the end of the 80's dudes have been rolling over on the regular.

With the toughest sentencing guidelines ever cooperation became the rule rather than the exception and the old time gangster and stand up guy became extinct. "It started with the mafia," says the oldtime gangster. "They became a victim of their own success. Hollywood embraced them and with that it was all down hill. The Mafia became pop culture and prosecutors around the country jumpstarted their political careers by taking the mob down." It became a repeating scene of the first one to the buffet table as mobsters rushed to be the first ones to cooperate and get the sweetest deals. Most Mafioso's instinct for survival outweighed all other criminal codes of behavior. Especially with the feds serving life sentences for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

And the explosion of the drug trade in the 80's has proven to be the biggest factor in people turning snitch. Faced with life sentences drug kingpins and their underlings switch sides to go to bat for the government in hopes of reducing their jail time. It’s a vicious world where prosecutors hold all the power. The War on Drugs has created a snitch culture where brother tell on brother. The ideals of the past have been trashed in the face of mandatory minimums and sentencing guidelines that congress enacted to usher in the War on Drugs as a direct result of the indiscriminate violence and brashness of the crack trade that boomed in the mid eighties. Nearly every drug case in the feds involves a snitch. "Right near the end of the 80's the game started getting shystier than a motherfucker," Scarface confided to Feds backing up the notion.

And as hip-hop has gone mainstream like the mafia before it everything from the underworld and the streets has become popular culture. Now one can find Crips and Bloods in the suburbs and gang signs and Crip walks are regularly seen in rap videos, DVDs and movies. And with the advent of the new crack rap by new artists such as Rick Ross, Cleezy, Weezy, the Dipset and 50 Cent the phenomenon is not about to end. But when does the culture envelope itself and when does entertainment blur with reality?

"The hip-hop industry is not making it easy for itself with the whole stop snitching thing," hip-hop cop Derrick Parker said in XXL of the Stop Snitching T-shirts prevalent in the hip-hop community. The backlash after 25 years of the War on Drugs is a welcomed sight but will the code go back to being the code or is it just a fad or an illusion to fuel record and DVD sales?

"Most of the cats advocating the stop snitching movement are not real gangsters," one New York convict says. "They are entertainment figures with little if any criminal backgrounds. I mean look at 50 cent, he did 9 months in a boot camp and he expects us to believe he’s a stand up guy, an old time gangster. Get real." But raps pseudo drug lords have their fans buying into the whole movement. The stop snitching phenomenon was even co-opted by USA Today, the most mainstream of newspapers as a headline and cover story to sell papers. But hip-hops connection to drug culture and criminal codes of honor are illusionary at best and hip-hop cop Derrick Parker sees nothing but problems for the rappers.

"The authorities see rappers who are no cooperating with the police and they see all these shooting and homicides. To them that borders on organized crime," he told XXL. With all the songs and high profile cases involving the likes of Shyne, Lil Kim, Cam'ron, 50 cent and Busta Rhymes the snitch issue is not going away. The movement seems to have originated with the Skinny Suge "Stop Snitching" DVD that featured NBA star Carmel Anthony. Now every rapper and their entourage are putting out stop snitching DVDs and exposing their competition as rats. But is it real or entertainment? Very few of them are facing jail time and even when they do it is minimal time. So what has the effect on real life been? And in y2k what exactly is a snitch?

"On the far right you got the police," the NY convict says. "On the far left you got the gangsters and in the middle you got the civilian. There is a difference between a witness and a snitch. A witness is someone who doesn't have and allegiance to the individuals who participated in the criminal acts. There is no breach of trust. A witness is doing their civic duty as a citizen and police consider anyone who doesn't provide info as obstructing justice. Most people are taught to report suspicious or criminal behavior to the proper authorities. But on the flipside a cat who gets busted with product and flips on his mans and them to get off is a pure snitch, plain and simple. No ands, ifs or buts." In the criminal underworld snitching is a transgression worthy of Judas, the cultural father of all betrayals. And in prison, where most criminals end up there is no sympathy for a snitch. But the lines aren't always so clear.

"Is your grandma that called the cops on the dudes selling crack on the corner a snitch?" The DC convict asks. "No way Joe. She ain't in the game. But what happens if she reports a murder and is gonna testify on dude?" He Pauses. "Still she's not a snitch. She has no vested interest in the crime. But let’s say the dude facing the murder beef gets his homies to kill your grandma the witness? Fucked up, yes? But that’s part of the game?" In the violent criminal underworld fair isn't always fair and innocent victims of witnesses who open their mouths can and will get killed but that doesn't mean they're a snitch. Snitches put cases on people. Snitches are law enforcement pawns. No snitch can ever be honorable. But on the flipside sometimes it takes a snitch to bring justice to some well deserving bad guys.

"A child molester or baby raper is the lowest of the low in prison." The oldtime gangster says. "I live by the code but I would testify against a child molester because that is wrong. But if I could get away with it I would kill them first." And this is coming from an oldtimer. So when do the ends justify the means? To some like the DC convict "Anybody who testifies for the prosecution is a rat." But he relates an even more complex situation.

"Dude T-bone from around my way is a thorough dude. No bullshit. An oldtime prison legend. Him and two other dudes were at a halfway house, just got out of Lorton. Some prison guards worked at the halfway house. T-bone and the two dudes robbed the place and beat the residents and got caught. All three of them. There were only two witnesses to the robbery and beating, the one dude who got beat and a female prison guard who was subdued. To get out of prison T-bone told the cops what happened and his part in it and agreed to cooperate against his co-defendants the other two dudes. When the cops let him out he went and killed both witness and then him and the two other dudes got the case thrown out due to no witnesses being available." The DC convict stops. "Now, is T-bone a snitch?" A lot of people would say yeas because he talked to the cops but you have to look at the whole picture. He got himself and his two boys off by killing the witnesses to the crime that he informed the authorities of to get out of jail for the express purpose of nullifying the witnesses. A twisted game for sure but snitch or no snitch?

In this post War on Drugs world no answers are clear cut. Sure there is the black and white, clean cut look but sometimes one must look deeper and then decide what constitutes a snitch. Because it isn't always as clear as it seems. A lot of variables can come into play. But be sure to know that if you are in the game or a criminal undertaking at one time or another you will be pressured to snitch or even told that your boy already has snitched on you. Just remember this when that time comes, if you're willing to do the crime be willing to do the time.

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They said FCI Mckean got tore up. And before the riots that institution was known as Dream Mckean, the sweetest institution on the east coast. I've spoken to prisoners that were there and they all said the jump off there was off the hook. A real live riot. Supposedly several millions of dollars worth of damage was done. FCI Memphis was another institution that I heard the prisoners went off at. Destroying and damaging buildings, setting fires, smashing windows- just outright and blatant destruction. They said FCI Bastrop got destroyed too and several others like Lewisburg had major disturbances. This dude told that at Lewisburg it jumped off in I-Block. The cops came up handcuffing dudes hands and feet and dragging them down three flights of stairs. Beating the shit out of dudes who were bucking. Supposedly the cops there were vicious and took it out on the prisoners. As for my experiences in FCI Manchester, now that was a different scene.

Like I said, there wasn't really a riot at FCI Manchester. I don't remember any jump off being planned at all. No talk of action or what we should do. Just a lot of grumbling about this and that but that was normal in any prison. Dudes are always complaining about something. Like the time they got, the food, the c/o's or whatever. In prison as in life people complain just to hear themselves talk. Dudes were going hard, or whatever you want to call it, but it was after the fact. When we were already locked down and rumors were filtering in. So it was all in vain actually. And after two weeks of being locked down and the goon squad being taxed to the max they unlocked us on a limited basis.

The compound didn't open but the units did. Everybody was locked in their own individual unit but at least you could use the phone, take a regular shower, move around, and watch TV. Plus it eased the strain on the goon squad. i think at the time they only had two squads outfitted and they were probably worn out after working two weeks of round the clock policing,

Any freedom after being locked in a cell for two weeks is good but there was always some knuckleheads who wanted to go hard. Nothing happened on my block but I heard in some of the others dues tried to smash windows, TV's, and light trash cans on fire. These units quickly got locked down again. As soon as they unlocked us they opened the compound on a limited basis. They called prisoners to chow one unit at a time. And when that went alright the same happened with the yard.

It was almost business as usual. But everything was on a restricted basis. In the hole they said cells were four and five deep. That means four or five guys in one two-ma n cell. Supposedly in the hole the prisoners were going off. Flooding the ranges, burning toilet paper and mattresses, throwing shit and piss on the cops. It was a madhouse. The dudes in the hole and the ones who had been taken there during the lockdown were going hard.

A couple of my friends were in the madhouse and these are the stories they related to me. One of my Chicano friends was already in the hole doing d/s time and when they started bringing prisoners to the hole who had bucked on the lockdown, shit started going crazy, he said. The hole got so crowded that they had to take two buses of prisoners approximately, out of the institution. To us on the compound these dudes just disappeared but we heard the whole story later. Like six months later in some cases.

The BOP practiced some diesel therapy on the prisoners who bucked in
the hole at FCI Manchester. But for real you can't blame the prisoners who caused disturbances because four and five men in one two-man cell locked down 24 hours a day is vicious. So what would you do? Go hard, buck, fight the man- what other choice do you have? Anyway my Chicano friend got caught up in the spirit and was one of the first to be taken out of the hole as he was shouting and encouraging other prisoners to flood the tiers and raise hell.

The bus they put him on went to FCI Beckley. A brand, new prison that was as yet unopened. He did six months in the hole there before they brought him back to FCI Manchester. He told me they took him out on a midnight transfer to Beckley. Supposedly the cops were beating the shit out of the handcuffed prisoners as they escorted them to the bus. My Chicano friend said some of the dudes figured they were done for. All out in the sticks and shit with redneck cops. The city dudes were wondering if they were on some Ku Klux Klan type of time and shit. But the cops didn't kill anyone, they just left them at Beckley, an empty prison, with a skeleton staff, until they healed up from the beating they took on the journey over. So my Chicano friend and 40 others stayed up in the hole locked down until everything cooled off. Acting as dummies for the Beckley staffs’ training routines. But it was all good because shit chilled and most of them didn't even receive incident reports or nothing.

My other buddy got taken to the hole after the two week lockdown period ended. He was setting fires in the unit by throwing matchbooks into trashcans. He was also trying to get, his block to riot or jump off as he called it. He told me horror stories of flooding the ranges, throwing shit and piss at the cops, and not sleeping for days on end and being crowded all up in the small cell with four other dudes. They were hardly fed he said and. were kept in a state worse then animals were kept.

He told me they took him out on a bus with other prisoners early in the morning and they all ended up at USP Terre Haute in the hole. He said the cops there were brutal and inhuman. Pulling him down the stairs fully shackled, kicking him, punching him, and striking him with their batons and shields. He said he spent 6 months in a dirty, wet cell with roaches, rats, and mice who ate better then he did. He related how he was lucky to get one meal a day and was taunted by the cops who seemed to get off on a sadistic sort of trip at his predicament. If any prisoners took the bait and started screaming or cussing the cops or throwing piss and shit at them they would drag the perpetrator out of the cell and beat the shit out of them for real. Dude told me that a couple of times he thought he was in hell and that he feared for his life but not from any prisoner but from the cops who were out of control and stressed out due to the nationwide lockdown, increased work hours, and rioting. But eventually as all the prisoners healed up they were shipped back to FCI Manchester. No incident reports or nothing.

So that is the story of the '95 crack riots. At least from my point of view. I'm sure that other prisoners could tell more horror stories but what I related here is what I experienced and heard about. Eventually Manchester went back to business as usual after about a month or so of the lockdown and semi lockdown status. So the lockdown didn't affect me that greatly. But when the compound resumed normal operation I remember a lot of dudes seemed to have disappeared. And six months later I heard their stories. And most of them came back looking worse off for their ordeals.

Soon after the crack riots the BOP went into action. They would not be caught unprepared again. Metal bars went, up on all the windows, metal detectors were placed at different points on the compound, the bunks were bolted to the walls along with the lockers, and the wooden doors were replaced by mental ones with food slots. All thee mediums in the system encountered these changes.

Before the crack riots, only the USPs were lockdown ready. But now all the mediums were equipped like this too. And in 1996 the BOP adopted policies which strictly curtailed inmate personal property, inmate programs, and privileges. Systematically the BOP stripped the prisoners of any little perks or so-called luxuries they had. I've always viewed this as the revenge factor for the crack riots. So steadily doing time in the feds has gotten worse. Visits, phone privileges, TV privileges,, property privileges and programs like college and inmate organizations have been cut. At the same time penalties for institutional infractions have stiffened dramatically. It seems to me that all the prisoners in the system are still being punished for the actions of a few and the lack of foresight from the administrators. And today almost ten years later things are getting even worse.

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]]> Sun, 15 Feb 2009 15:56:55 GMT http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/comments.php?id=56 ]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=56 <![CDATA[MDC Brooklyn]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=55

The Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn, New York is in essence a big county jail. Run by the Bureau of Prisons for the feds, this nine floor, two-sided jail holds about 3,000 prisoners in various stages of the criminal justice system process. The buildings house pretrial inmates, the newly arrested or indicted, those on federal writs, those just sentenced and awaiting designation to a federal prison, prisoners who are in transit transferring from one prison to another, work-cadre prisoners who are close to being released, INS detainees awaiting deportation, and inmates who are working for the US Attorney's office and can't be placed safely anywhere else.

The dentition center consists of two buildings side by side and connected by an underground tunnel that is used for prisoner movements. The old side is a crumbling and dilapidated, converted postal center and the new side is a modern BOP facility. The old side houses prisoners in big dorm like units while the new side has units with two-man cells. My first visit to MDC Brooklyn was in January of 2002 when I was transferred from FCI Fort Dix to FCI Fairton, both in New Jersey. My visit was quick as I was processed in through R and D, placed in Four South, a dorm on the old side, and then shipped out on a bus a couple of days later to FCI Fairton. While there though I heard some horror stories of dudes being stranded there in transit for months awaiting a bus to their destination.

Also the unit I was thrown into consisted of pretrial inmates and the newly sentenced so I was bombarded with questions about the BOP and prison life in general. I was surprised at how many dudes were telling me about their cases and almost asking my permission if it was alright for them to snitch or not. As a prisoner who had been down 9 years on a 25 year sentence I found the environment just a little surreal and disconcerting. I mean I had been "bidding and here I was in some county jail type joint. Snitch central, you know. I just counted myself lucky to get out of their so quick.

It used to be that USP Lewisburg was the main holdover/transit spot on the eastern seaboard bust as the prisoner population of the BOP quadrupled in the late 90's and new prison came online MDC Brooklyn become a prominent holdover/transit spot with the opening of the new side in 1999. I visited MDC Brooklyn again for a second time in January 2004 when I was being transferred from FCI Fairton to a brand new institution in West Virginia, FCI Gilmer. This time though my stay was far from quick.

The journey started with the unheard of midnight transfer. I was called to the Lieutenant's office with about eight other prisoners after the 10 PM count, stripped out, shackled, chained up, and marched out of the prison by the three members of the bus crew. In my 11 years of incarceration in the BOP this was the first time I'd been taken for a bus ride in the middle of the night. Supposedly it was unheard of due to security reasons but I guess with the population explosion a lot of security measures were waived. Anyhow I arrived at MDC Brooklyn at the ungodly hour of 3:30 AM in the morning, tired and bewildered.

I was placed on the new side in K8-2, which I learned was one of two transit units on the floor and in the building. Supposedly on the old side they had converted a whole floor to deal with prisoners in transit also. I guess they developed problems with the system they had employed before that I experienced on my previous stop there. Mixing fish (the newly incarcerated) with penitentiary veterans in transit isn't the swiftest policy in the world. I would assume that after a trial and error process MDC Brooklyn administrators discovered this.
The first thing I noticed upon arriving at the detention center for the second time was that the staff was predominantly black and predominantly female. And all the female correctional officers were thick. I'm talking baby got back. They were like boom- all ass, you know. And it wasn't just like one of them. It was all of them. From R and D to the block. I kept thinking of all the rap songs talking about a big butt and a smile. Well, it seemed like all the girls they rapped about in those songs worked at MDC Brooklyn. Maybe it was a qualification or something. Like big butt required, I don't know. But all the dudes on the block were lusting after those chicks. It was incredible. I don't know where they found all those women at but they could have formed the cast of a Lil’ John video. And it wasn't like they were pretty. They were just thick. It must be a Brooklyn thing. There was this one little gorilla mami chick who was just ugly as hell but she had all the dudes sweating her because her ass was phat as shit. Dudes would be standing around her like bodyguards and all that. Pressing her like she was their girl. These dudes were crazy. And the little gorilla mami chick loved it too. Big butt and a smile and all that.

The transit unit was mad corny too and I was not lucky this time around. The weeks went by and after a month I had been through four cellies, I tired to stay active by walking laps around the tiers for an hour a day. I did pushups and sit-ups trying to tire myself out so I could sleep the days away. It was kind of like being in the hole except you weren't locked in a cell 23 hours a day. You were locked on the block 24 hours a day instead. The unit was in constant flux as I waited for my bus or plane out of there. I was stuck in limbo. No mail, no routine to make the hours go by, awful food, and complete and utter boredom. This was some new jack shit and I resented it because I was a veteran. I had been doing time for 11 years, bidding you know, and I had developed habits and a routine which made my time pass rapidly. And here was stuck in a county jail type environment with no personal property, no programs, and no routines. The C/0's were lazy and incompetent. Leaving the unit locked down 1 1/2 hours at a time for the counts that took a half hour on a regular compound. And some of these broad C/0's would be walking around like they were tough or something. Trying to act all gangsta at soft-ass MDC Brooklyn. It was bananas. And my only relief was a book to read, the chance to buy something from the commissary, which was only once every two weeks, or using the phone and burning up my 300 minutes.

I burned my BOP allotted 300 minutes of phone time in a week and then had to wait two more weeks to get more minutes. It was mainly out of boredom. I called everybody on my BOP approved phone list. I scoured the unit for interesting books to read and waited a week for the chance to go to commissary when I first got there. Starving the whole time with the bullshit food and ecstatic just to be able buy some junk food and to get a radio.

After I bought the radio from commissary I spent my time listening to sports talk radio like the Dan Patrick show and the BBC news. This was my entertainment and how I made it through the days without going crazy. Howard Stern, K-Rock, Seton Hall's Pirate Radio, Hot 97, and the Staten Island college station. But after the first couple of weeks even the radio got old. I was used to being out and about on the compound. Moving, you know. And this stuck in the block shit was lame. There was no where to go at MDC Brooklyn anyhow. At first, I was in radio heaven because being in New York there were a lot of Radio options and just discovering all the different shows and stations on the dial was a treat but eventually I burned out on the repetition. Listening to the radio 10 hours a day will do that.

There were two English language TV's and two Spanish ones but the block was full of corny-ass dudes who wanted to watch Gone in 60 Seconds or the Mask of Zorro on TNT five times a day. I had been bidding and was used to going hard on sports. That’s how a lot of prisoners do their time. I always thought that real men watched sports but in the transit unit at MDC Brooklyn all you had was a bunch of suckers. A bunch of corny-ass dudes for real. Watching Charmed and Law and Order and shit. Dudes all up in the block with hot breath, rank, sleeping all day. Rolling out of bed for chow and then starving all night. It was some shit but just goes to show you the state of the feds today.

During my stay the toilet in my cell broke, got clogged up, and the C/0 didn't even care. I told her about and she kept bullshitting me about the emergency plumber coming up. I had the plunger all up in my cell plunging the toilet after every use so it wouldn't flood. After a week the emergency plumber finally showed up and fixed the problem. The showers were some shit too. Bugs all up in the shower. Cold water most of the time and I mean ice cold. If you got a hot shower then it was a good day, you know. I was bored, frustrated, and ready to lose my shit but luckily I was mature enough to take it all in stride. I just kept telling myself this is only temporary.

Ninety percent of the units were prisoners in transit who had been doing time for a number of years plus the newly sentenced who were moving on to their first designations in the BOP. But 10 percent of the unit consisted of special inmates. These dudes worked as orderlies and food servers. Most of them hadn't even been sentenced yet. A lot of them were suspect too and they had rackets going on with the food. They would steal the orange juice and other food that was meant for the dudes on the block and then try to sell it to dudes later. They would give out small portions so there was more for them. I had to finally step to one of the dudes and tell him that I was trying to eat. He would hook me up after that but a lot of the dudes in transit didn't say nothing and the cops just turned a blind eye. A lot of the special inmates were their wanna-be bodyguards and the dudes that were sweating them the most so they just shook their butts and smiled.
They enjoyed special privileges also from their status as orderlies and food servers. They always got unlocked early and got extra food like bread, bananas, milk, orange juice and chicken. I heard them talk about having been locked up for three or four years there without having been sentenced. That shit sounded funny for real. This one dude who worked as a food server came screaming down the tier one time with the cops behind him saying he better get his radio back and the cop seconded him on it. It turned out his radio was sitting on the table right in front of the TV.

There was this one Spanish dude who thought he was the case manager or something. A straight inmate-police. He was the head orderly and word was he'd been at MDC going on five years. Supposedly he testified against a bunch of Colombians and couldn't be placed anywhere else in the system. So the BOP had him hid up in the transit unit. A lot of prisoners mocked the special inmates and called them hot ass motherfuckers but you had to be careful because some of those dudes would run to the man right in front of you and get you locked the fuck up in SHU.

I had this one bunkie who came on a state writ. An oldhead who told me he was doing natural life for murder one in Attica. The way he described the routine from the famous prison I figured he was for real but then he started going on legal visits and it turned out he was fitting to testify against someone on a fed murder case to get a sentence reduction. The feds came and got the dude on President's Day, a motherfucking holiday, to brief him on his upcoming testimony. He told me he was keeping it gangsta. "I ain't doing life for no nigga," he said. That seemed to be the prevailing attitude at MDC Brooklyn and the overall new theme going around the feds in general. A straight snitch culture, you know.

But where there are drug dealers there will be drugs. I didn't pay any mind at first but after the weeks passed there I started to notice the little moves going on. Dudes were in transit but still shit was jumping off. There was plenty of weed and tobacco on the unit to be had. The building was supposed to be smoke free, but it wasn't and drug free give me a break. I didn't indulge, but so much for the War on Drugs. The proof that it's failed exists right in MDC Brooklyn.

As the weeks passed I had urges to hit somebody. I had flashes of walking by a special inmate and slamming him in the face. But I maintained and didn't give in to my baser impulses. It was the environment that did it to me because for real MDC Brooklyn is some straight shit. It exemplified the state of the feds. It's a big-ass county jail filled to capacity with prisoners and ran by lazy and incompetent staff who are basically just punching a clock. The inmate population consisted mainly of fake-ass dude, hot-ass motherfuckers, and scaredy cat types. Transit sucks but MDC Brooklyn is some pure garbage. I couldn't imagine finishing up my bid there like the work-cadre prisoners who exist without athletic programs, programs, weights, a gym, or recreational leagues. I guess the furloughs and the chance to go into the real world for at least part of the day must be the trade off. Because doing time at MDC Brooklyn is an adventure in futility.

Order Street Legends Today.

Kilo's of cocaine and herion, millions of dollars of drug money, luxury customized cars, dime pieces galore, bling-bling to shine, multitudes of violence and vicious murder- these dudes were street stars and their lifestyles are what gangsta rap represents. Read their stories and ride shotgun with a hood legend.

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 or request it at a bookstore near you.

ORDER PRISON STORIES TODAY

Prison Stories is the hottest prison book of Y2K9, taking over where "In the Belly of the Beast" and Hothouse took off. Check out what the book reviewers of the major magazine are saying -

"Plenty of blood is shed in this intense record of the harsh realities of the penal system." - Smooth Magazine

"Prison Stories outlaw rawness mixes well with hip-hop's street essence. Fans of Iceberg Slim's pimp tales or HBO's 'OZ' series will really dig this." - Elemental Magazine

"Prison Stories reveals a world of fearless convicts, inconspicuous snitches and deadly gang rivalry." - The Ave Magazine

"An episode of 'OZ' couldn't capture prison drama the way Soul Man does in Prison Stories." - Don Diva Magazine

Find out for yourself by ordering the seminal prison book of this decade. Take a journey behind the walls and experience convict life and culture through Soul Man's stories and insights. You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 or request it at a bookstore near you.

]]> Sun, 01 Feb 2009 14:22:40 GMT http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/comments.php?id=55 ]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=55 <![CDATA[Inside a Blood Set]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=54
Terrell C. Wright

In California gangs are a way of life and LA is gangbanger ground zero. The Crips, Surenos, Nortenos, Eighty-Eights and Bloods all hold court in the streets, they all perpetrate in some form or fashion. Gangs in the city of Angels are recklessly rampant and gang activity doesn't just happen in the big city. The blueprints for bangin’ have infested smaller towns and spread across the nation. The ideology has transgressed ethnic, racial and geographical boundaries. Gangbanging exists in the hood, the suburbs and even rural areas all over America. Gangs have become a trend and the gang mentality is accepted in popular culture and society as a whole to a large degree. But how did it all start and what’s it really like inside a set?

Gorilla Convict decided to get the 411 and take a closer look at the Bloods and in particular the Rolling 20 Neighborhood Bloods, one of the largest blood clicks in LA today. Legend has it that the Bloods started in the summer of 1972 when a member of the LA Brims, a westside independent gang was shot and killed by a Crip member after a confrontation. Being heavily outnumbered by the Compton Crips and thus no match for them in a gang fight the LA Brims turned to the Piru Street Boys, Lueders Park Hustlers and Denver Lanes, three other non-crip gangs, for assistance. Before the ensuing rumble a meeting was called on Piru Street in Compton where the 4 non-crip gangs met and metamorphosed into the Bloods. To distinguish themselves from the Crips and their traditional blue bandanas the newly form Bloods decided to fly red rags and so the war of colors was launched. According to Blood legend the red symbolizes the blood they've shed, the white in the red symbolizes the celestial bodies, stars or heaven and the black in the red symbolizes the bangers as black people.

Throughout the 70's, 80's and into the 90's the Blood/Crips rivalry grew as did the numbers associated with the gang and their presence in cities and areas across the nation. The warfare has raged on unabated. Bloods aimed to be known as Crip Killers but recently the state of the war has changed as more and more Crips and Bloods have been fighting a more common enemy. The fight in LA has turned from Blood versus Crip and black versus black to Blood and Crip versus Surenos (Mexicans/Chicanos) and black versus brown. It’s rumored that the Mexican Mafia or Erne shotcallers have green lighted all blacks in Los Angeles. From their cells at Pelican Bay the Erne have started a war in the streets of LA. And this racial war has turned vicious. Because we are Don Diva we go right to the source for our interviews. In this case we went to the California Department of Corrections to speak with Rolling 20's Neighborhood Blood soldier and O.G., Terrell C. Wright aka Loko, age 38, who is serving time for a Beverly Hills jewelry store robbery. We spoke to Loko about set life, what being a blood is all about and what the current climate in LA is concerning gang warfare.

When did you first get involved with your set?

For many, many years I sustained that wanna-be status, amongst that rank and file who mostly stood on the side lines, jocking the gangsters shadows and presence. Until finally, I crossed that threshold of no return in 1982, blindly committing myself into that cesspool of violence, death and destruction.

What neighborhood do you all represent?

Me and my homies represent a gang calling itself the Rolling 20's Neighborhood Bloods. A gang that's reputable on the west side of Los Angeles, and practically one of the largest blood gangs inside Los Angeles today.

Did you grow up there?

As shocking as this may sound too many who may have never known this, but I didn't grow up in my neighborhood; at least not in the traditional sense of growing up somewhere. But I've been a part of the fabric and interior for so long, many probably haven't even noticed.

Was it always like that?

I would have to say yes. As far back as I can recollect it’s always been the way it is today: the gangs, the drama, the shootings, the murders and those that are legendary inside the gang scene. It's always been like that as far back as I can recall.

What kind of things did you all get up to?

As far as the neighborhood was concerned back in the early 80's we mostly hung-out on Vermont and 29st, drinking, smoking and flirting with the women who strolled by admiring our machismo. That was then, but as the drama intensified across the city with all the gangs vying to be dominate over the next, me and my homies committed ourselves neck deep into that which was taking the city by storm — (The era of the drive-by shooters).

When did things start progressing towards crime?

From the first inception into the Neighborhood Bloods as a member I soon learned that crime was an intricate part of the gang-bangers persona. Committing a criminal act for the gang-banger was no different than eating, sleeping and breathing. Plus back then crime paid. Our earliest form of hustling, prior to crack digging its claws into the many communities and jurisdictions, was that of snatching purses, jewelry snatching, home burglaries, stealing cars and selling its parts. As I mentioned to commit a crime was the gang-bangers hustle. So it's always been there; an intricate part of the gang-bangers life.

Give me a history and breakdown of your set?

Prior to my click -the 29st click of the Neighborhood Blood - becoming a part of the NHB's, we were known as the Vermont Villain Boys. Basically, we were youths who thought they were cool. And we had such names as Lover D. - soon to become Zig Zag; Ranger, soon to become Stranger; Baby Black, soon to become Big De Bopp; and me as Baby Boy, soon to become Mr. Loko. That's how we started off as players, wanna-be's, until finally we became known as the 29st click of the NHB's. Today we're one of the biggest click inside the Rollin 20's gang with a few hundred click members from our click alone.

Where are all your homies now?

Wow, that's deep to me, because I always think about the generation of homeboys I grew up with, especially my click of members. Homeboys like Lace Dawg, T-Dawg, Sparky, Boodha, Joker, Hen Dawg, Te-Bopp, De-Rock, Be-Rock, Nutty-Boy, Gumboe, Dez, L-Bone, Lil Jerr, Big-Tee are either retired, dead or strung out on drugs...and I haven't even listed those who are in jail. There are a few success cases, but not many. I always reflect back on my homies and those I started off with. I often wish I could go back to those early time periods to be able to hang-out with my homies that I miss.

Looking back how do you reflect on it all?

Looking back now I have many regrets in one sense. I would be lying if I said other wise. And in the same sense I don't have many regrets. I don't no how much sense that makes, but that's the way it is inside my heart. I am what I am: a soldier of the field who's totally equipped for any shit that hits the fan. I'm that gangster who stands his grounds when many suckas break and run, not certain of themselves. I am an epitome of a gangster, thug. So once more looking back I have regrets but not many.

Why did you all form in the first place?

If you’re asking as to why the neighborhood was started, I'm not exactly certain about that in particular, as the voyage was a generation before my time. But as far as my particular click, the 29st is concerned, it gave us the opportunity to be apart of something grandeur, majestic, mystical and dominating in the hearts and minds of those who stood on the side line, admiring and awing over the gang-bangers life.

What is the history of the color?

The chose of choosing red as the symbolical representation of being a blood, is beyond my reach in knowledge. In fact, I don't have the slightest inclination as to why the color red was chosen for the bloods, and even more so, why the Crips chose blue. I'm totally lacking in that area of history.

When did you first get involved?

Before I was an official made-man on the gang scene, I had my few tumultuous years circa 1979-1981 of being a wanna-be gangster. So I started in the gang-bangers track some time ago, and it wasn't much time later, where I concluded that I was ready to make that commitment.

What's it like for the young kids growing up there?

It's a continuance struggle for the youngster growing up in Los Angles. Especially, inside a city where the gang-bangers aura have a strong grip on the youths minds from an early age onward. They have to always battle the decision, of joining the rank and file of those before them, into the gang scene, or to march down a separate path. But in my humble opinion, it's a struggle in every aspect.

How do you see things in your neighborhood today?

Today is no different then the old: gang wars, funerals, lives destroyed and many more adversities to overcome. The only difference today, is instead of the traditional Blood -vs- Crip wars, and Mexican (cholos) -vs- Mexican warfare, the two predominate groups in Southern California, have now turned their guns on each other. It’s the new trend of black gangsters -vs- brown gangsters. But it’s a no win situation, as the only for sure outcome, is that there will be more chaos and destruction left behind then it was the day before. All across the L.A. county lines, and its many highways and byways, the black and brown gangsters are drawing up new battle lines, re-drawing and re-establishing new Demilitarized Zones, inside communities they once happily shared together, and are killing each other at an alarming rate. The excrement blood baths have the two groups taking it to dimensions of warfare that's considered something new to the many L.A. gangsters: racial targeting and culture clashes. It's the new trend and sadly enough it'll be here for a while and as it buries itself deeper into the fine woven material of the L.A. stage of drama, more lives will be lost, and many more heart breaks of family, friends, homies, brothers, cousins, fathers, and uncles loss of lives will continue to rise out of control.

What are all the dudes into?

Now days most of my homies are into grinding (hustling). Trying to attain that almighty dead president (money). And even some (although it's rare in a larger sense) are attempting to take their illegal proceeds and take a shot at making a legit living by up starting a legalize business of some sort. But for the most part most of my homies are grinding on one level or another.

How do you feel about all this?

I have no qualms with any of my homies. Just as they find that niche to do them, I'm doing me. My philosophy is you make your bed you sleep in it. That's how I feel.

What would you do to change how it is?

If you're referring to the gang scene inside the blocks I grew up on, I'd be more than willing to take a step forward to try and bring about some type of change for the betterment of the neighborhood as a whole, and for those who make up the community. I would be willing to make an attempt at trying to form a peace treaty of some sort to rid at least my neighborhood of the violence that have plagued it for so long. I'm at that point in my life where I'm comfortable saying the aforementioned and sincerely meaning it.

What can society do?

What can society do, huh? In my mind, society can assist in many, many ways. I would love to be apart of a (think-tank) from the many echelons of society, to try and come up with some radical solutions, viable solutions to bring about an overdue change inside the hoods. I wouldn’t mind doing my part, as long as society does their part. In the end, it's a group effort.

Will it ever stop or just stay the same?

In my philosophical mind frame, nothing stays the same — absolutely nothing. To me the one thing that remains constant is change. So in my humble opinion, I have a philosophical inclination to say that it will change one day. But the mystery behind that fact of life is what type of change will come. Will it be for the worse or for the better. But as a collective it would be most wise to have a hand in the dynamic that will be, so that change that is inevitable will hopefully bear something positive and not something negative.

Who were your biggest rivals?

Undoubtedly, the Rolling 30's Harlem Crips, are our biggest rivals, and always have been. We battle on sight, and the only time that we've had a tentative peace treaty with each other was during the 1992 L.A. riots, peace-treaty period. But keep in mind, it was a tentative agreement. We had rules in place, that we would stop our drive-by against them, and they would stop theirs against us. And unlike most rivals during that period, who openly visited each others turfs as a sign that the warfare was over, the Neighborhood 20's (my turf) and the Harlem 30's had an understanding, that we were not to visit each others stomping grounds. For months the tentative agreement held until one late night on Brighton Avenue and Adams Blvd my roll dawg, Lil Moe was shot 8-9 times at close blank range. And despite the early rumors that the Hoover Criminal (Crips at the time) had done the shooting, the Republic of the Neighborhood Bloods took our boiling wrath out on the entire Republic of the Rolling 30's. We struck at them from every angle, sending out messages that the L.A. peace treaty was officially over with, on the west side of the city.

What did you all beef for?

In the early days we beefed simply because we were Bloods and they were Crips. That was the unique dynamic all across the city. Simply because we were from opposite ends of the spectrum.

Does the animosity still exist today?

Yes! It still exist but not as it once did. The wars are fewer than it once was, but when they do commence they're bloody and violent. Unlike back in the days when the wars were more rampant as many L.A. gangs vied to be the biggest fish in the ocean. We did what damage we could with our simple revolves. But in today's time when wars jump-off the automatics are brought out and most times multiple body count of dead are the results. So most wars today are brief, but very, very traumatic. But don't get me wrong either it's always a state of warfare between the warring tribes.

What do you have to say to all the young kids coming up?

To not follow in any gangsters footsteps. To stay focused on something positive, and to remain steadfast in some constructive belief that will yield positive results. And never ever join a gang.

As an O.G. (Original Gangster) who are your contemporaries?

In my line of work, many of my contemporaries are either dead, doped out, or have fallen off the face of the earth. But there are some, and since I'm asked to acknowledge them, specifically from my particular tribe, I would have to say my homeboy Big Tray-Kay from the 27th.st, Big Krazy-Kay from the Avenue's, and Big Spook from the 29th.st. There are plenty, plenty more to be listed of who I would tilt my hat to, but those I mentioned, are active Generals in the field, directing, showing and leading divisions of cadres on the field of battle.

Who are the fallen soldiers that need to be recognized?

I have a laundry list of soldiers that I'd like to mention, who I feel need to be mentioned. First, I would like to tilt my gangsta hat to my O.G. homeboy, Original Gangster Santa-Klaus. For years I ran underneath his tutelage, absorbing all the street knowledge he had. And he taught me well. As well as my big homey O.G. Thunder. And of course, I have a list of names that I'd like to tilt my hat to, and of course who I would want many to remember: Billy Rob (1978), Fish-Bone (1984), Stoney (1986), Dopey (1987), L-Bone (1987), Don Don (1987),' Lil No-Good (1988), Sweaty-Teddy (1989), Tee-Lok (1990), Dez (1990), Lace Dawg (1990), Dipps (1991), Wicked (1992), Santa Klaus (1993), Lil Squidd (1993), Baby Reese (1993) Cee-Kay (1993), Lil Krazy-Kay (1993), Insane Wayne (1993), Killa Kal (1993), Wino (1994), Loko-Moe (1995), Lil Dee-kapone (1995), Tiny-Spook (1996), Tee-Spoon (1996), Kay-Dee (1997), Belizean Jerry (1999), Fat-Man (1999), Gee-Kev (2000), M-Dawg (2000), Big Bee-Rock (2000), Nipples (2001), Dre-Dawg (2001), Ant-Dawg (2001), Tiny Evil (2002), Roscoe (2003), Ise-Man (2003), Jay-Bee (2003), Kool Boy (2003), baby Tippy (2003), Evil (2003) Lil-Kay Kay (2004), Rick Dawg (2004), Jay-Dee (2004), Black (2006).

What sets are around your neighborhood?

My neighborhood borders with friends and foes. To the south of our neighborhood, we have our allies the Fruit Town Brim Bloods; and next to them, on our south-west border, we have our arch nemesis, the Harlem Crips. To our immediate west end, we have our allies the Black P. Stone Bloods (city stones) and to our northwest border, we have our enemies, the School Yard Crips. North of us, we have our rivals the Mid City Stoners-13, and the Playboys-13. But we have enough girth to feel comfortable inside our established borders. In fact, it is estimated that we have the biggest territory of any black gang inside L.A. We have five large clicks which make up our neighborhood, and we have a sixth click, that doesn't get much air play. They are called the BZP (Belizean Posses). They're small, but they're ruthless. They hold their own, as the Neighborhood Bloods have been known to carry their weight inside the gang arena. Before I west side roll out, I would like to give a shout out to my homies the Homicide Neighborhoods Bloods in New York, the 8-Mile Neighborhoods Bloods in Detroit and Bakersfield Neighborhood Bloods in California. And an almighty Su—————————whoooop to all the Bloods across the country.

Besides being a Blood soldier and convict, Terrell C. Wright aka Loko is also an author. Check out his books, Home of the Body Bags and the upcoming To Live and Die in LA, which chronicle his journey as a Blood soldier from the streets to the penitentiary. For more info on his books visit www.senegalpress.com or streetgangs.com and to learn more about the brown on black violence in LA check out the In The Hat blog at www.inthehat/blogspot.com.

Order Street Legends today.

Kilo's of cocaine and herion, millions of dollars of drug money, luxury customized cars, dime pieces galore, bling-bling to shine, multitudes of violence and vicious murder- these dudes were street stars and their lifestyles are what gangsta rap represents. Read their stories and ride shotgun with a hood legend.

Check out what they are saying about Street Legends-

"In this gripping gangstaography Seth Ferranti manages to once again take you somewhere you don't want to go." - Don Diva Magazine

"Seth Ferranti is a gifted author that brings the realness of the street to the pages of his books. Street Legends is a classic book that should be read twice by any young hustler that's thinking about joining the game of life and death." - Freeway Ricky Ross, (from BET's American Gangster)

"Street Legends is a classic book that will never leave my personal collection. It's definitely one of the realest books ever written about the rise and fall of some of the top kingpins in American history." - Jimmy DaSaint, author of Money Desires Regrets and on Everything I Love.

"If you ever were a hustler or just thought you wanted to be good at it, you will need to read this first. The streets are rough. This author, Seth Ferranti, engages your mind like a skill saw." - Street Elements Magazine

You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 or request it at a bookstore near you.

ORDER PRISON STORIES TODAY

Prison Stories is the hottest prison book of Y2K6, taking over where "In the Belly of the Beast" and Hothouse took off. Check out what the book reviewers of the major magazine are saying -

"Plenty of blood is shed in this intense record of the harsh realities of the penal system." - Smooth Magazine

"Prison Stories outlaw rawness mixes well with hip-hop's street essence. Fans of Iceberg Slim's pimp tales or HBO's 'OZ' series will really dig this." - Elemental Magazine

"Prison Stories reveals a world of fearless convicts, inconspicuous snitches and deadly gang rivalry." - The Ave Magazine

"An episode of 'OZ' couldn't capture prison drama the way Soul Man does in Prison Stories." - Don Diva Magazine

Find out for yourself by ordering the seminal prison book of this decade. Take a journey behind the walls and experience convict life and culture through Soul Man's stories and insights. You can order the book at gorillaconvict.com or at Amazon.com for $15.00 or request it at a bookstore near you.

]]> Fri, 02 Jan 2009 17:39:29 GMT http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/comments.php?id=53 ]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=53 <![CDATA[George "Boy George" Rivera]]> http://gorillaconvict.com/blog/blog.php?id=52

Boy George was a multi-millionaire by the age of 21. A brilliant and powerfully ambitious drug entrepreneur who saw an opportunity and seized it. It’s alleged he made over $15 million in his two year run. Government sources say that Boy George and his Bronx, NY based heroin organization grossed $250,000 a week. Boy George, barely out of his teens, built himself a reputation of being one of the wealthiest druglords to come out of New York and one of the youngest to be charged with the kingpin statute. At the end of the 80’s while America concerned itself with the crack epidemic, Boy George was running one of the most lucrative and aggressive heroin organizations in the city. Flamboyant and charismatic, the Puerto Rican drug baron was one of a kind. Equal parts gangster, CEO and gentleman who juxtaposed street smarts, innovative marketing and ruthless efficiency to create a heroin empire, while other kids his age were still worrying about what clothes to wear or what girls to date. Boy George and the Obsession case are street legend-the exotic James Bond cars, the Christmas Eve yacht party, the harem of girls tattooing his name on their bodies, the glamour, the jewels, the stacks of money, Boy George had it all. And he had it all as a teenager. He was definitely one of the best to ever do it in the drug game.

Part 5- The Legend

Boy George was the master of the Bronx universe. Using a management style that might have been honed in a corporate boardroom and a brand of violence common to drug dealers, Boy George carved out an empire and flooded the streets of Manhattan and the South Bronx with a brand of high quality heroin with the brand names Obsession and Sledgehammer. He was ruthless and powerful, federal authorities said and they linked him to a dozen homicides that marked his climb to the top. The 20-year-old CEO allegedly ran a $9 million a year heroin ring. “Boy George was making crazy money,” Sports says. “Everybody knows that.” He was known for having a temper and had been involved in several shootouts to cement his reputation in the streets yet he never missed an opportunity to intimidate. Boy George didn’t fuck around when it came time to get paid either. “Don’t fall for tricks about ‘Oh, I’ll see you tomorrow, blah, blah,’ when you are dealing with someone who owes me money. You say, ‘Listen homie, I want to eat today. So I’m not going to wait until tomorrow to eat. I want to eat today. I’m hungry. Pay up dude.’ That’s it.” He said.

The authorities alleged George killed mercilessly with hired hit men, killing anyone who crossed his path, workers who came up short, anyone who stole- Boy George was merciless. The murderous and smart dealer was so young that his own lieutenants called him a prodigy. “He kept loyalty strong in this organization,” Sergeant Billy Cook of the NYPD said. “By distributing cash bonuses, gifts and free vacations- the identical incentives that the head of a legitimate company would lavish on star performers.” But investigators maintained that behind the generosity there was a deadly face. At least a dozen homicides, investigators said, could be directly linked to George’s rise to the top, which earned him a reputation that encouraged loyalty by force of death. “If you weren’t with that clique they didn’t really fuck with you,” Sport says. And the one thing Boy George was known for, besides being calculating and violent was his cars. “The first shit was the Benz. The 190, kitted up, music blaring.” Sport says. And Boy George was on some white boy shit too he liked rock and roll, jamming to Guns-n-Roses in the hood. “The first time I saw his shit I was over there on Brook Avenue. On a drive-by too. He was just passing by. Everybody knew him off the rip.” Sport remembers. Boy George didn’t play when it came to cars. He bought Ferrari’s, Lamborghini’s and a Bentley. All this only added to his legend. “He pulled up in a Lincoln Town car to show us,” Flaco says. “He had the Porsche pressing buttons showing how the license plate moved and the lights changed.”

Barely out of his teens, Boy George built an organization so lucrative that he registered a fleet of Mercedes, BMW’s and customized Porsches to one of his corporate fronts, Tuxedo Enterprises. “The press called me the Puerto Rican James Bond because of the gadgets in my car. I was on foot when I was arrested. If I could have gotten to my car they’d still be chasing me.” Boy George said. James Bond, one of George’s heroes, inspired 50 grand worth of special features added to the 190 Mercedes he had. Radar detectors manned the cars front and rear, the license plate slid into a side compartment and a strobe light blinded anyone following him. Secret compartments in the door panels and the floor hid weapons and cash. One device squirted bogs of oil from the tail while a hidden switch flipped a box in the trunk that sprayed nail-like tacks. Boy George also had a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, a Bentley and a Porsche in his garage.

His $140,000 customized black Porsche had a trunk full of stereo equipment, a telephone system, a VCR, a color TV, ebony finish, thick custom rugs, gun compartments that slid open at a touch and a host of other exotic goodies. A button in his customized BMW would cause loaded handguns to pop out of concealed apartments. Boy George spared no expense customizing his favorite cars with $12,000 ostrich-skin interiors, 630 watt stereos, 10-track CD players, televisions, VCRS and cell phones. Several of his cars were straight out of a James Bond flick with all types of features to assist in escaping in car chases. “The biggest influences in his life were probably Gleason’s Gym and James Bond.” Sport says.

At 21, he owned shopping malls and commercial real estate. He flaunted a lifestyle as lavish as a New York socialite or those portrayed on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. But his passion was boxing. “They used to be saying that he was into boxing,” Sport says. “His whole crew was all real nice with their hands. They would give you a fair one if that’s what it was. But they would beat dudes down too.” Boy George’s favorite charm was two tiny gold boxing gloves which symbolized the Golden Gloves boxing competition he’d trained so hard for. He trained at boxing and worked out religiously. “He’d always eat healthy food.” One of his girlfriends said. “He cycled and jogged.” And his trusted Lieutenant, Will “Love” Claussen, was the son of a professional boxer and helped to train George.

Handsome and debonair, Boy George wasn’t that big a dude. “He’s like 5-7 or something,” Sport says. In the South Bronx he was remembered wearing a black leather cap that matched his black leather trench coat. He cropped his dark brown hair short and kept his goatee neatly trimmed. His brown eyes were intent. “He had a good reputation,” Sport says. “Ain’t nobody got nothing bad to say about him. If you bubbling you got to respect that because he took that shit there. He was doing it.” Boy George dined at upscale restaurants like Victor’s Cafe in Manhattan. He liked expensive silk shirts and went by many aliases. He once sent a girlfriend to San Francisco on a day trip to fetch a pair of Nikes that weren’t in stock in New York. He was well-mannered, attentive and confident. Boy George had a big, echoing laugh. He loved Andrew Dice Clay, who was his favorite comedian. The in your face humor fit Boy George’s style but he had a generous side too. His workers would lug bags of groceries from the Food Emporium for the families of girlfriends, of which he had many. Most were Puerto Rican girls from the poverty stricken South Bronx. It was said he kept a harem of women in the neighborhood. “He had a lot of girls. He was all over with the broads,” Flaco says. George had all types too.

“One night stand girls who came back for more,” he explained. “Girls who clung to me like a cheap suit. Then there were girls who were my regular jewels of the Nile, more upper class than these regular girls.” Boy George’s girls were bejeweled in leathers and furs, reclining on ostrich-skin passenger seats of his Benzes and BMW’s. A lot of them tattooed ‘Property of Boy George’ on their bodies. To the girls sex was currency and they spent it on Boy George. He liked his girls customized like his cars. He demanded color coordination. He had a 50 dollar rule, nothing under $50 was to be taken off the rack while shopping. He had one girlfriend wear a twenty-two karat gold ‘Boy George’ name plate around her neck. And his women had to be on point. “He always liked everything spotless, house, clothing. He never liked to see anything dirty.” One girlfriend said. “He’d bring home a whole lotta videos and I would just watch TV. I didn’t have to get a job. I was to cook and clean and take care of things and I would get an allowance at the end of the week.”

Boy George would frequent Club 371, where his whole crew hung out. No waiting in line for Boy George. He strode to the front, sat in the VIP section and sipped on a bottle of Moet. Everyone treated George like a king. “They used to pass by the clubs- Riddler, Peoples and Kamikazi on Westchester, two blocks off of White Plains Road. Two opposite each other.” Sport says. “It was called herpes triangle. A lot of fucking was going on. Dudes weren’t going in. The party was outside the club. The bitches used to come to see who wa