How Granny Defeated the M.O.B.

By Leroy Maclin

Jesse House feels he’s a failure. Maybe he is. Growing up on Detroit’s East Side in the 60s and 70s, his life was nothing if not eventful. From avoiding the local M.O.B. to trying to figure out who his own family was, Jesse was nearly always confused.

In this story he tries to figure out how much his environment played in shaping the person he became. If you lived life in his shoes, would you have been any different?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WoolysWagon ePublishing
• Release date: Nov 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370829392

Leroy Maclin

Leroy Maclin is a graduate of Michigan State University with a Bachelor's degree in Urban Planning. Born and raised in Detroit, Michigan, he is from a large family of seven sisters and three brothers. He writes about what he knows using his upbringing as inspiration. Leroy also writes poems.

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Dedication

Thank you to Valerie and Daniel for being my support and inspiration.

-1-

WHY THIS STORY?

My name is Jesse House, a part of my life was revealed in a book called Homeless Hearts. A very small part.

I had the makings of success, but something happened to change that and I became a failure. It wasn’t a result of child abuse, substance abuse, or other ugly activities, so I guess I just screwed up a lot.

But what made me do that? The world around me played a part, at least that’s what those store-front psychologists think. Some of those psychologists knew what they were talking about, when they weren’t drunk or high.

One thing for sure is that my neighborhood had a definite effect on my life, and this part of my life is being revealed as I await trial in Houston, Texas, a place far from Detroit, but not far enough from my past.

-2-

A MEMORY

I remember as far back as 1963, that’s when I first heard the news. I wasn’t paying much attention to my teacher, so I missed the original announcement. But I became alarmed when I noticed everyone crying; the kids, the teacher, and worst of all Marcus Evans, the class bully. That’s when I really got scared.

My four year old imagination began to run amok. There I was, a kindergartner, sitting among a class of cry babies. Entertaining the darkest thoughts a four year old could muster - the assassination of Santa Claus, the attack of the killer turkeys on Thanksgiving Day and worst of all, year long school. With no crayons.

I didn’t know if the other kids shared these thoughts, and quite frankly, I didn’t care. All I knew was something bad had just happened and this time I had nothing to do with it. I swear!

Although I believed in my innocence, it wasn’t until Principal Bird closed the school that my mischievous paranoia subsided. When the Principal’s notice came down the crying kids became happy, noisy kids. They had been released from their educational bondage. Marcus Evans even said that Presidents should get killed more often. As I hadn’t heard the announcement his comment went right over my head.

Marcus, aka Monkey Dee, was always saying or doing mean and crazy things. He spent most of the school year in the Principal’s office and by the time he was nineteen, that office had become the Jackson State Penitentiary. Monkey Dee eventually graduated from bullying to murder and was now serving a life sentence. Until this very day, as I write my story, I never knew why we called him Monkey Dee.

Monkey Dee wasn’t the only classmate of mine to go from the School House to the Lock House. Hell, half the people in my neighborhood spent more time in lock down than they did at recess.

Those types of punishments were the norm for the people who I grew up with. One day I could be playing ball with my neighbors, friends, or school chums and then the next day they’d be gone. Vanished. Not to be seen for another ten years or so. Some of them would never be seen again, either due to police justice or street justice. That’s just how it was where I grew up.

-3-

DETROIT

I grew up on the East Side of Detroit, a few blocks away from what I thought was the scariest street in the city. On Beniteau, (pronounced Ben-a-toe) kids were mean, women were mean and the rats were second in command of the streets. Even the large oak trees on the block were mean. Their branches served as weapons, used as additional arms used for ass kickings when the bad guys got tired of using their own hands.

The first in command of the streets, and the ultimate rulers, were the Men Of Beniteau, or M.O.B. for short.

This gang had two requirements for membership; you had to live on the street and you had to be mean. Not just mean to rival gangs, no! You had to be rude to everybody, including your family if need be. Rumor has it that one M.O.B. member was killed by his own gang for attending a Cub Scout meeting with his younger brother.

The M.O.B was feared by everyone, including rival gangs who possessed more firepower. The fear was due to the fact that these gang members were not easily recognized. They had no gang colors, no gang signs or gang language. They were just mean teens and pre-teens that loved trouble. The proof was in their daily deeds; house fires, car thefts, and armed robberies were just a few of the M.O.B.’s signature deeds. Murder was their bonus activity.

Beniteau was not a small street. This terror strip ran as far north as Jefferson Avenue (the next stop was Canada) and all the way south across Seven Mile. The evilness of the street was contagious.

Besides the M.O.B., one had to deal with the usual dreaded people like druggies, pimps, and prostitutes. Someone was always overdosing and pimps were always flexing their muscle on some innocent teenage girl. Sometimes this nonsense spilled over to the nicer streets like Fairview, Lemay and St. Jean. Now keep in mind, those streets were not without sin. However, compared to Beniteau, they were angelic. But they also had their share of Beniteau moments or developed a case of Beniteau Fever, a term the cops used when called to those relatively respectable streets.

In spite of all its evilness, Beniteau was the bloodline to the East Side. The street had restaurants, grocery stores,