Stomping Out Chomo’s And Shooting Speedballs

How I Stomped Out a Hollywood Celebrity Child Molester and Shot up Speedballs in a Prison Synagogue by Robert Rosso

Inmate Maurice Elias was inside of his housing unit when a fellow prisoner told him that he was wanted outside. A 50-year-old disabled man confined to a wheelchair, Elias rolled himself to the front of the dorm where he spotted three guy’s in their 20’s standing out on the walk, myself among them. He stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes went wide with fear.

“Come on, Maurice,” I said to the former Hollywood actor after I yanked open the door and hurried in the unit towards him. “You know what time it is.”

His initial reaction was to backpedal; but with only one arm and one leg, he wasn’t going to get far.

I came up around him, grabbed the back of his wheelchair and told Thumper to hold the door open. Surprisingly, the handicapped man showed no sign of resistance and made no fuss whatsoever as the three of us wheeled him to the side of the building.

“So…you like to fuck little girls, huh Mr. Elias?” Thumper said. “Well, that’s cool. Because I like to fuck old disabled dudes who fuck little girls.”

Maurice Elias was actually the birth name of James Stacy, an American actor who not only appeared in several movies in the 1950’s, 60’s, and 70’s, but also appeared regularly on The Adventures of Ozzy and Harriet and stared in a television western called Lancer, a series that lasted from 1968 thru1971.

In 1973, following a motorcycle accident in which a drunk driver struck him and his girlfriend, killing her instantly, Stacy lost his left arm and left leg. Life changing injuries to be sure, but not a career-ending one. In fact, after the tragedy James would go on to make numerous appearances in television and film, and was even twice nominated for an Emmy for Just a Little Inconvenience in 1977, and Cagney and Lacey in 1986.

Then, in 1996, James Stacy was convicted of molesting an 11-year-old girl and sentenced to 6 years imprisonment. The prison he was sent to was Chino Institution For Men (CIM).

Enter myself.

Shortly after I arrived at CIM on drug charges, I met a guy named Claude Gibson, a practicing Jew who invited me to religious services in the prison’s synagogue. I agreed, however, contrary to what I expected it was not a Rabbi who preceded over the Saturday service, but rather, a half-black, half-Mexican inmate named Kong who converted to Judaism while serving time in San Quentin.

And as he read from the Torah, a Yamaka on his head, it was blatantly obvious that the Kong was also a heroin addict, and I had just started using myself.

From that night forward I became a “Friend of the Jewish Fellowship,” one of 14 whom – along with the three “real Jews” – made up a total of 17 inmates who hung out every day and night at the Synagogue, watching VHS tapes that the real Rabbi would bring in, eating snacks that we bought from the prison canteen with the proceeds that we made from holding fun raisers, and partying- Kong and I did a lot of partying in that holy site.

One day while Kong and I were in the Synagogue shooting speed-balls (heroin and cocaine mixed) and watching the original version of “The Postman Rings Twice”, Hal, an older Jewish man from Florida serving time for white collar crimes, pushed open the front door and brought in a man in a wheelchair, a man who was missing one arm and one leg.

“This is Maurice,” Hal told us. “He’s Jewish.”

Besides the obvious physical abnormalities, what I saw was a bitter old man who wouldn’t make eye contact with us, and who didn’t even say hello. Instead, he rolled around the room checking things out and eventually stopped to look at some religious books before announcing that he was ready to leave. And when Hal asked me if I could take him back to his unit, I happily agreed.

As I rolled him back to the “old man’s dorm”, Elias didn’t a word, not even a thank you when I dropped him off. Likewise, after attending Saturday service in which I agreed to take him home again, he said nothing.

A couple of days later, on a Monday, rumors started to swirl that Maurice Elias was some Hollywood actor. Apparently, when he went to visitation on Sunday a famous actor had come to see him, either Marlon Brando or James Cann, said some, while others said it was neither. In any case, someone famous had come to see him and people started to talk.

Coincidently, later that same night I called home and I happened to speak to my grandfather, someone who watched television often and knew celebrities well. When I asked  him if he had ever heard of Maurice Elias, his response was instant.

“Why hell, Robert, that’s James Stacy,” he said to me. ” He used to be married to that gal Connie Stevens (actress and singer) then got into a motorcycle wreck. You know who he was, he played on that show Lancer.”

Indeed I did. Although Lancer was originally aired before my time, it was one of my favorite “cowboy shows” and I watched a lot of reruns of it. I cant tell you how many times I’d dress up in a cowboy hat, boots and holster with toy gun on my side and pretend that I was “Jonhy Madrid,” the character played by James Stacy.

Excited to learn the news, I couldn’t wait to get Maurice Elias alone. I didn’t have to wait very long. Later that evening, he showed up at the synagogue and I offered to push him home. Once I got the former actor alone, I said, “I knew who you are and my grandpa is a big fan. Is their anyway that I can get an autograph for him?”

I was complexly taken aback when the one-legged man put his foot down and stopped the wheelchair.

“Get the hell away from me and leave me alone!” James Stacy spat. “I don’t want anything to do with you”.

The next morning I went to work in the prison infirmary and I was behind my desk typing inmate appointment notices (called “ducats”) when my boss, Ms. Johnson, came up beside me and intentionally bumped my shoulder; pointing to the ground as she walked away. There, laying on the floor was a piece of paper that I recognized as an article clipped out of a newspaper or magazine. Naturally I picked it up.

“Holy shit, man!” I said to my coworker Tim. “Check this shit out.”

I handed him an article that had been cut out of the Los Angeles Times that said Maurice e Elias a.k.a. James Stacy had touched an 11-year-old girls genitals. According to the prosecutor, Dee Corona, she originally believed that Stacy deserved probation, however, after a psychologist concluded that Stacy was in fact a pedophile, she successfully argued for a 6-year prison sentence.

“What are you going to do?” Tim asked me

“I’m giving this to the NRL’s.”

The NLR’s or Nazi Low Riders are a California-based prison gang. Early on, I had befriended the gangs leader, Thumper, and there was no doubt in my mind what he would do.

During the noon meal, that same day, I found Thumper in the chow hall and showed him the article. After reading it, he told me to meet him in front of the “old man’s dorm” after dinner and that’s exactly what I did.

Once we got to the side of the dorm, Thumper told me to step aside and he grabbed the back of Stacy’s wheelchair. The first thing he did was literally dump the invalid man out of the chair and onto the concrete ground. At that point, Bam Bam started putting the boots to him, and Thumper joined in, both stomping James Stacy on the ground.

Perhaps what stands out the most when I think back to that day – about THE INCIDENT – was the way that the former movie star reacted to it all. Never once did he scream, never once did he holler, he simply did the best he could to soften the blows and took it all in stride like he was resigned or deserving of  his fate.

And I’ll tell you what…although I absolutely felt a sense of justice for the little girl whose life he forever changed, at the same time, watching a helpless man who only had one arm and one leg try to stop the blows by flopping around on the ground like a fish out of water was sad, especially when you idolized him as a little boy.

I hope the little girl he hurt is doing well.