Ballin' Both Sides of a Real and Deadly Game!: The True Life Story and Experiences of Miami's Liberty City's Promised Child

By Mark Irvin and Rory Newkirk

A young man born in the concrete jungles of Miami's Liberty City, during the racial turbulent times of the 1960s! In spite of the many issues of the time, he's forced to deal with an even worst problem within the very home, his father's terroristic behavior dominated by a life of extreme alcoholism! Searching for even the smallest piece of peace, he's pointed in the direction of the church, only to find hypocrisy in the leadership of Reverend W.K. Smith, his uncle! Football becomes an outlet for his pinned up anger, confusion and frustration and it's visibly displayed by his violent and destructive way of tackling! It's crystal clear that he's not only talented enough to play in the NFL, but play at a high level for an extremely long time! Nevertheless, the strong gravitational pull of a hustling lifestyle coupled with fast money, fast cars and even faster women are no match for his many mentors! He's now happy with living in the fast lane on the hustling expressway of the dope game! His mind and body is cultivated by the dangers of greed, lust and sex and even more so the gangsta lifestyle and culture; whereas, there's not an ounce of fear in him of going to prison, being murdered or even killing! However, self- preservation is the first law of nature, so when the Angel of Death approach and touches him on his shoulder, does he accept the consequences of being murdered in the streets like a true and real life gangsta or does he cowardly cry, beg and pray for his life?! Only God knows!!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543923605

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Genesis

Out of nowhere, over the DJ’s loud music came the thunderous and rapid gunfire of an AK-47. Bla-ca!!! Bla-ca!!! Bla-ca!!! Bla-ca!!! Me, the ghetto superstar screamed, Get the fuck outta here!!! Drive!!! Drive motherfucker!!! Drive!!! Ole shit!!! U’m hit!!! U’m hit!!! I looked down at my nearly shot off and badly bleeding arm, with bones shattered, being held together by muscle tissues! Thoughts of death and dying immediately began to overtake my frantic mind! I felt something or someone was laughing saying; I got your dumb black ass! Now you belong to me bitch ass nigga!

The truck swerved totally out of control and we were now in the middle of non-stop gunfire! Brian, Kevin, and I were targets and the bullets most definitely had our names on them!!! Frozen within a prison of fear, a vision of my funeral appeared! But how could my funeral have two caskets?! The other casket held my mother’s body. She immediately dropped dead when told of my tragic and violent death!

At that very moment, I desperately desired to retrace my steps and discover the fork in the road which lead me to this bullshit! After all, life is God’s bestselling novel and I needed God’s divine intervention in my affairs to find, uproot, and permanently eradicate this ever reoccurring mentality of self-destruction!

**********

I was the third of five children of Elnora and Bennie Irvin. We were a typical black family within Miami’s Liberty City, nothing more or less, so all appeared to be just fine. Besides, I didn’t have a blueprint or a point of reference as a standard of measurement by which to judge family life. However, I should’ve known something was extremely wrong when my mother named her last child Hope. In fact, it was said my mother was hoping she didn’t have any more children from my crazy-ass father! The truth of the matter, we couldn’t help our family’s economic or social plight, but our resourcefulness enabled us to survive.

We looked out for the common good of each other. There was a particular closeness and unity within my community. If you needed anything, you could go to almost any neighbor’s house and get it without shame or condemnation.

I remember asking for bread, peanut butter, jelly, syrup, or other small items to complete a meal or to make a snack. My family did the same for others on our block when they needed it as well.

If your parents were not home and your neighbor didn’t have the item you needed, they would give you the money to buy it from the corner store. Even the corner store would let you owe them and pay later.

It was common for you to eat dinner at a friend’s house or spend the night sometimes.

Miami was a big city, but it felt like a small town because we were all family.

My neighborhood was subconsciously living by that great African proverb, It takes an entire village to raise a child! Every adult felt responsible for the well-being of us youngsters. That African spirit within them understood that our behavior had to be governed and regulated by law so that we didn’t wreck, or outright destroy the life that God had given us. We youngsters knew someone was always watching us within our community. If you did anything out of character, immoral, or just plain ole wrong, best believe someone was going to report it to your parents.

Sometimes your misdeeds reached home before you did. When this happened to me; my father would be waiting with his thick leather belt in hand and sometimes an extension cord, eager to knock fire from my ass! Some adults would chastise you themselves if they witnessed you misbehaving, then tell your parents; whereas, you would get another ass-whipping! You never thought about talking back to an adult, whether family or neighbor. That was the cardinal sin, and your punishment would surely get you a good ole-fashion beat down!

As a community with the common mind-set of overcoming opposition, we prospered individually as well as collectively because unity was the key to our continual success. This mentality was etched into our brains.

It’s truly a miracle that we survived chattel slavery, let alone striving under the many atrocities, injustices, prejudices, and racist laws of Jim Crow. All of which we faced on a daily basis by this cynical and manipulative America. Our survival in and of itself is the evidence that there is a God, and we’re His chosen people!

The productivity, unity, and One for all, and all for one mentality in my community was adversely implanted in us. White supremacy and racism had forced us to not only live amongst ourselves, but to patronize each other as well. Therefore, we had no choice except to depend on ourselves in order to create unity and harmony. So, the black currency circulated within our community at least 7 or 8 times before leaving, which enabled the neighborhood to maintain and sustain itself. Truth be told, my neighborhood was a smaller version of the early 1900s Black Wallstreet of Tulsa, Oklahoma!

The robust progression was obvious in my community. We had everything within a ten block radius around 15th avenue, which was the cornerstone of my neighborhood.

We had a Doughnut Shop, a Dairy Queen (an ice cream franchise), a Laundromat, 2 Dry Cleaners, 7 mom & pop stores; (Ferg’s, Jackie’s, Mr. Dorsey, Ms. Bivins, Mr. Wonderful, and another one whose name I can’t recall), a Beauty Salon, 2 Barber Shops, a Shoe Shine and Repair Shop, a Gas Station, 3 restaurants; (Bahama Troy, Royal Drive-In, and Mom’s Kitchen). There was Jack’s Fish Market, the House of Albert’s Funeral Home, Charlie Johnson’s Pool Room, Oberry’s Drivers’ License Office, and the Miami Times Newspaper (a local newspaper dedicated to the black community). There was The Cotton Club, Ebony’s Bar, and of course, The Palace, which was on 17th avenue. Dr. Edwards’ office was right in the center of 15th avenue. Dr. Edwards was a general doctor who made house calls. We had a Drugstore, a Dentist office, a small Movie Theater, and of course, 2 Churches.

Outside of our own protective boundaries we were treated as second-class citizens. Many whites thought we were beneath the dignity of being treated like a human being. Thus enabling white folks to write the 3/5 Compromise at the United States Constitutional Convention of 1787, which was nothing more than a rationalized form of dehumanizing the so-called soulless African; whereas, to justify their barbaric and inhumane acts of savagery through slavery, murder, rape, and any other demonic forms of ill treatment. It was legislated in 1857 that there wasn’t a law pertaining to black people that the poorest amongst white folks had to obey. We were certainly viewed as 3/5 of a human being and treated like animals.

Virginia House of Delegates member, Henry Berry, stated in a speech made January 11, 1832. And I quote, Pass as severe laws as you will to keep these unfortunate creatures in ignorance. It is in vain unless you can extinguish that spark of intellect which God has given them. Sir, we have as far as possible, closed every avenue by which the light (knowledge) may enter their (slave’s) minds. We only have to go one step further to extinguish their capacity to see the light and our work will be completed. And they would then be reduced to the level of the beast of the fields and we should be safe. Sir, a death struggle must come between the two classes or races in which one or the other will be extinguished forever.

Many years later, I would grow to understand that the mere fact of kidnapping and dragging us here through Africa’s West Coast doors of No Return, was indeed a Declaration of War, a clear act of pure evil, and white America’s original sin, which leads me to believe that black people in the United States and throughout the diaspora could never be considered racist. Racism is prejudice plus power! To truly demonstrate racism one must establish a structural foundation backed by Academic Curriculums, International Banking Institutions, Governments, Policies, Legislative Laws, and Religion. Most importantly, the might of Military force is indeed needed to deter any and all forms of opposition opposed to this racist ideology and its institutions of oppression. Without the backing of such powerful entities, then that racist ideology is void of the necessary ability to control and infringe upon the fate and destiny of another people; therefore, those racist views are nothing more than prejudice without the source of power.

My grandfather always made sure on his Saturday visits that we as his grandchildren knew the cruelties white folks did to black people. These were supposed to be the times of the great racial melting pot of desegregation. There would be no more racial barriers. Blacks and whites would be given equal opportunities, equal housing, equal schooling, equal medical care, and an equal playing field to achieve success.

Big-Daddy said this desegregation era was only hogwash and integration would be a downfall for black people. I’m positively sure I heard him say, Integration is one of the worse things that could have ever happened to black folks! Many black people failed to acknowledge the truth of this fact because they were under the illusion that white folks had all of a sudden developed a strong religious conviction of some sort. However, the white racist political infrastructure understood that people abroad were consciously awakening to the reality of their hypocrisy and would no longer see them as the moral compass of the world. You can’t preach Democracy and its wonderful qualities of peace, freedom, justice, and equality abroad and then act in the most barbaric of manners by living in total opposition of those noble principals at home without being seen as a hypocrite! So, to serve their political agenda, they cleverly injected us with the poisonous ideas of social integration. Integration subtly taught us to be separate from each other. So much so, that it created miss placed desires within our heroes and she-roes and lead them to seek so-called greener pastures by changing their zip code; therefore, becoming the unwanted and unwelcomed new neighbors in a white suburban community.

Before integration we were definitely able to walk, talk, physically touch, and inhale the aspirations and inspirations of our Doctors, Lawyers, Business Owners, Politicians, Fire Fighters, Mailmen, Policemen, Principals, Teachers, and Preachers because they were our next door neighbors. Nevertheless, the art of divide and conquer was in full effect because it dismantled our minds, thus separating our successful mentors. We were no longer able to drink from those local intellectual and productive wells due to their abandonment of us.

More importantly, it separated our collective dollars, which was the start to our financial genocide! In fact, in the word currency you could find the word current because the ‘C’ and ‘Y’ are interchangeable with the ‘T’, which means movement, flow, circulation, and energy. If there’s no collective circulation of black currency within our community, then it lacks the necessary economic energy, power, and ability to maintain and sustain itself; whereby, leading to the destruction of the neighborhood! Even worse, our consumer’s mentality allows other ethnic groups to come in and service at least 70-85% of our own needs, thus monetarily raping and sucking the economic blood and life from the black community! This subtly opens up a way for gentrification, which consequently serves as a form of ethnic cleansing by way of changing the demographics of our community!

Big-Daddy knew this so-called integration would ultimately destroy most of our progress because we would worship a separate God. Our black world may not be God’s Promise Land, but the white man’s integration plan was a definite campaign to seduce us into returning back to Pharaoh’s Egypt. It would teach us to love the white man’s world, ideals, and ways. It would also teach us to view his propaganda as ‘absolute’ truth! At the same time, subtly teaching us to hate and destroy ourselves without ever knowing our true contributions to the world, or the mere fact of us being the original people on this planet and Africa being the Cradle of Human Civilization.

To me, Big-Daddy was a hero, a teacher, and a true African Griot!

Unfortunately, I don’t know when my neighborhood started its descending march to destruction. Neither do I know when I became an unconscious, blind, and full-fledged player in trying to annihilate my community, other black communities, and even my own life. But one things for sure, the titillating process of ignorance, greed, sex, ego trippin’, self-hatred, and self-destruction started quite early!

**********

In elementary school my friends were David Cadillac Johnson, Maxie Poochie Mingo Jr, Michael Roberson, Darren Brown, Ronald Shanky Boy Smith, Alexander Smith (no relation to Ronald), and Rufus Ski-Bo Williams. For the exception of Poochie we were all taught by Mrs. Clause, a Caucasian woman who had grown to honestly believe we were all insane. We called her Cracker and Honky so much she probably wondered had her last name been legally changed. We had absolutely no respect for Mrs. Clause. There was no way she could challenge our brain skills, especially with the attitude we displayed. I could only imagine that her inability to tap into our human potential was due to her lack of understanding our culture, mindset, and unique academic needs. So, we would leave her class at the same intellectual level as we entered it, and the sad thing about this was that the school system would still advance us to the next grade. I don’t know whether Mrs. Clause was sincere about teaching us, but we certainly were not going to give her the consideration.

Still, to this very day I wonder why Mrs. Clause never demanded respect from us. We were little children and could not possibly do bodily harm to her. Maybe she didn’t give a damn and was only there to collect a fuckin’ check! Maybe, like we thought, she was just a Cracker who thought we were just a bunch of crazy little Niggers with low self-esteem issues that would instinctively lead to criminal behavior!

She had every reason to think so!

The essential teachings in life are the teachings we acquire at home.

One of the things my friends and I had in common was that we all came from dysfunctional homes. Proper academic education, ethics, and respect begin in the household. Mrs. Clause could only reinforce within us that in which we brought to her classroom as a result of our dysfunctional home training. Therefore, most of her time was spent trying to establish law and order by attempting to discipline us. A community and a home are only smaller and larger versions of the same entity. What is taught in the home will eventually spread into the community or what society teaches will likewise spread into the home.

When it came to being streetwise, Cadillac was the most polished. He lived right behind The Palace, a popular bar and nightclub. The Palace was also a well-known prostitution spot. Cadillac was precocious because he was exposed to many things and he absorbed his immediate surroundings. In fact, his house was a transit house (a hoe house), so he knew the mechanics of pimpin’ and workin’ hoes.

Poochie and I lived half a block away from Cadillac, so the environment was basically the same, except the pimpin’ and prostitution stayed on the other side of the avenue. The pimps had their designated area and we youngsters knew better than to go making fun of the hoes. Michael, Darren, Ronald, Alexander, and Rufus weren’t subjected to the everyday sights of these harsh realities. However, the same destructive vacuum-sucking tentacles and ghetto mentality was programming us all!

I can only imagine Mrs. Clause was aware that the development of our personality was already formed, shaped, and heavily cemented in negativity. Worse than that, she probably was privileged with information regarding the third grade literacy rate and the failing State Standardized test scores and how it predicted future prison inmates. (Hence, the budgeting process starts the building of another jail or prison cell). She knew we were potential future failures because many of her students were academically behind.

**********

My family life mirrored the negativity found in our society. My father was a small and slender man, who seemed like he was forever battling with his size. This Napoleon complex manufactured a multitude of insecurities, which were not only within him, but they spilled over into his children’s lives as well. My father was a heavy drinker and whenever he sipped from the alcoholic bottle of destruction, there would be immense confusion and uncut madness within our house! On the other hand, my mother was extremely passive, she couldn’t do much to make my father ease up on the liquor or ease up on us. In fact, her passiveness allowed her to be tormented and mentally crucified. Unfortunately, we as her children were carried to and nailed on the cross as well!

When my father was drunk, he was completely out of control! One day, someone was going to get seriously hurt!

At three or four in the morning, he would wake us up with silly ass questions like, Ain’t U’m your father? Answering Yes always seemed to validate his manhood or validate whatever the fuck he was feeling at the time.

The day my father purchased a pistol was the day we all became prisoners under his cruel dictatorship! To keep his subjects in fear and under his control, he would shoot his gun inside the house! Despite the random shootings heard within my neighborhood, there was nothing parallel to the terror caused by the thunderous sound of my father’s 38 revolver! The gun was not in and of itself dangerous, but the so-called man who possessed it was! My father was an immediate threat to the safety of our entire family!

Every time he shot his gun in the house, I thought the following scene would be the sight of seeing a loved one with dark red blood seeping from their body! Paranoia and extreme fear was the prison my family and I lived in whenever my father was drinking!

As most alcoholics, my father was forgetful when he drank. One day my younger siblings Derrick and Hope were playing in the backyard and stumbled across our father’s pistol. Derrick and Hope were only seven and five years old respectively. They were not aware of the potential dangers of a child handling a gun, so instead of informing our mother where the gun was, Derrick hand delivered it to Momma. My father had left the gun outside after a night of drinking.

My father arrived home sober, so Momma told him what had occurred. She also mentioned what could have easily happened if Derrick had pulled the trigger. So many children had been badly hurt or killed in similar incidents. My father conceded and said he would get rid of the gun. We saw victory all over Momma’s face, a lady who was always passive and who rarely won when she attempted to talk some sense into her husband’s concrete head.

Later that day, our parents drove to a lake to get rid of the gun. However, my father decided that the safety of his ego and manhood was more important than the safety of his wife and children! So, his punk-ass changed his mind and kept the gun! Momma, the same woman who left the house smiling and full of joy as if she had saved the world, returned home dismal with a grimace look as if she had let us all down. She disappointed the very children of whom depended upon her for love, protection, and comfort, especially in a house with a volatile alcoholic.

At times I would be wrought with disappointment due to Momma’s passiveness, and for not protecting us from my father’s foolishness. But what could she do? Momma foolishly loved my father and was too afraid to love us more. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place; whereas, she never fought to become our undisputed heavyweight champion.

My emotions steamed with disgust for my father, but this battle wasn’t over yet. I had a trick up my sleeve for his ass!

On another occasion, my father got so intoxicated he punched my little sister Hope in the face like he was fighting another man! The horror of that night is something I will never forget! The insane thing about that situation was when my father saw Hope’s swollen black and bluish face the next day he was ready to go kill the motherfucker who did this to his daughter! When it was revealed that he was the inebriated culprit who inflicted such physical damage to his daughter, he didn’t put the gun in his mouth and pull the trigger, nor did he go get help. To soothe his conscience, his punk-ass went out and got dead-ass drunk all over again!

One particular day I didn’t go to school, nor do I remember why I stayed home, but my oldest brother Jernard whose 14 years my senior came over to our house. Within minutes Jernard and Daddy got into an argument with Momma in the middle trying to stop it. Momma finally persuaded Jernard to leave the house. Daddy drunkenly shouted, I made a hard fuck for you boy! Jernard ran back into the house. Towering over Daddy, Jernard stood toe-to-toe and dared him to repeat that bullshit!

I was scared for Jernard. I didn’t know if Daddy had his gun on him or not. Daddy boldly said, Boy, I made a hard…

Bam!!!

Jernard punched the living daylights out of Daddy! He immediately fell to the floor unconscious!

We had buried Big-Daddy about a year prior to this and to now see my father unconsciously lying on the floor interjected the same agonizing grief of seeing Big-Daddy in a casket!

My train of thought was wrapped in my past pains and it was several minutes later when I noticed Momma and our neighbor, Mrs. Cook, reviving my father. Resuscitated, my father was lost to what had happened.

I was glad my father was alright, but I wished he had remembered what took place. Maybe then he would have known the consequences for abusing his family!

Jernard eventually said he regretted hitting Daddy and vowed never to do it again.

However, Jernard’s promise would get tested. The next incident, Jernard entered the house and upon seeing Momma scared and discomposed aroused his anger! Jernard admonished Daddy, You’re gonna’ get enough of mistreating your family!

Daddy stared at Jernard with evil intentions and snapped back his own warning, Stay your bad-ass right there!

They both took off in opposite directions.

We knew Daddy was running to retrieve his great equalizer, his 38 pistol.

Bla-ca!!! Bla-ca!!! The sound we dreaded blast through our house! Momma and I were frozen in fear as my father exited from the bedroom with the gun in his hand!

After calming my father down, we went into