Sweet Peter Deeder Ii A.K.A. ‘Mr. Sweets'

By Odie Hawkins

First off I have to say this loud and make it very clear from the very beginning; I am a descendant of one of the royal houses of African-American pimping. Let me add, I am a proud descendant.

I know what Im about to tell you is going to rustle some feathers, make no mistake about that, but thats the way its been with me all my pimping life. When I say Im a descendant of one of the royal houses, I mean it. I can back it up with bona fide DNA/geneo-logical evidence.

Now then, having said that, I want to make it clear that my economic/sexual activities stem directly from my introduction to The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli and The Kama Sutra, that love treatise for the ages. And, my life long dream to explore an area of human endeavor that has seldom been explained in any reasonable way.

Id like to make that the linchpin word for this book, reasonable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 12, 2008
• ISBN: 9781468568103

Odie Hawkins

Odie Hawkins was a member of the Watts Writer’s workshop that spawned the Watts Prophets, a collection of spoken-word artists, considered the forebears of modern hip-hop.He is the co-author of the novel “Lady Bliss,” and the author of “The Snake, Mr. Bonobo Bliss, and Shackles Across Time. 2011 he was a panelist at the Modern Language Assoc. at the Hilton, LA Live. Additional information may be found on Facebook page, his website:www.odiehawkins.com., his blog, and/or just Google his name.

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Prologue

SWEET PETER DEEDER II a.k.a. " ‘MR. SWEETS’’’

(Son of Sweet Peter Deeder I)

(Grandson of Duke Mansion)

Behind The Scenes

"F irst off I have to say this loud and make it very clear from the very beginning; I am a descendant of one of the royal houses of African-American pimping. Let me add, I am a proud descendant.

I know what I’m about to tell you is going to rustle some feathers, make no mistake about that, but that’s the way it’s been with me all my pimping life. When I say I’m a descendant of one of the royal houses, I mean it, I can back it up with bona fide DNA/geneo-logical evidence.

Here’s the way it started: Way back in the 1800’s when the U.S. government had declared slavery to be illegal, a couple White men down in Mobile, Alabama got together and made a bet. One bet the other one ten grand, a lotta bread for that time, that he could defy the law and bring in some more bodies.

The rule was that you could work the shit out of the slaves you had, but you couldn’t bring anymore into the country. They actually had ships blocking Southern ports.

The picture is so clear to me I can almost see it as a movie in my mind. A couple wealthy White men, wearing beautiful garments, pearl stick pins in their ties, money spilling out of their pockets that their slaves had made for them, drinking fifty-year old cognac, making bets for the hell of it.

Tim Meaher was the one who bet that he could bring some more bodies in, no one seems to know what the other guy’s name was. And, at this late date I don’t guess it really matters. Meaher (from a family that migrated to the South from New England, Vermont or New Hampshire) got hold of a ship’s captain named Foster and made a deal with him. Foster was captain of a ship called the Clotilde, that was the name.

Captain Foster was commissioned by Meaher to go to West Africa, buy some people, and make his way back, avoiding the Federal blockades. From all the research I did, I found out that Foster made it back to Alabama with 116 captives. The Alabama Historical Society helped me locate a book by an old White woman named Emma Langdon Roche called, Historical Sketches of the South. That gave me a real idea of what went down.

One hundred sixteen captives from West Africa. The info is not 100% on which West African people/country these captives came from. Remember, this is before the Europeans sat down and drew some boundary lines; like, o.k., this is going to be Ghana, the Gold Coast. This is going to be Rooty Tooty and so on and so forth.

I’ve pinned it down to Dahomey. Or maybe what they call Togo today. The captives all came from one group, called the Tarkars. One hundred sixteen of them and one of them was my great-great-great-great Grandfather. Maybe a few more greats need to be added, but at any rate, my Granddaddy was one of the captives and he was called African Peter.

As you probably know, it was very unusual for a Middle Passage trip to have as many people at the end, as when the trip started out. Maybe one of the conditions of the bet was that the captives should be alive when the Clotilde landed.

Awright, the Clotilde is back and Tim Meaher won his bet. Now, what do you do with the captives?

Meaher parceled them out. He gave a few to Captain Foster, gave a few to his relatives, sold a few and kept a number for himself. The thing about this deal is that the majority of the captives were kept in the same area, including great Granddaddy African Peter.

This book by this old White woman showed that these people were mostly hidden away ‘til the end of the Civil War. They weren’t worked to death, like a lot of other captives. And then, after the war was over, these Africans copped a plea with the ex-slave master, to allow them to buy some land to create an African Town.

Can you get ready for that?! The Tarkars, the Africans have enough money saved to buy land from the ex-slave master? They must’ve saved a lot of nickels ‘n dimes to be able to do something like that.

The ex-slave master sold them some land and they did create an African Town; Magazine Plateau Point, Alabama, right across the street from Mobile. I went down there a few years ago to check out the scene. That’s when I really got into my pimping roots.

Here’s the way it was laid on me; there was this old Black woman, must’ve been 98 if she was a day, keen ‘n clean, as they used to say, named Momma Joko. She was like the last living connection between then and now. She didn’t know African Peter, but she knew his great Grandson.

That boy was a pistol, lemme tell ya! They called him Honey ‘cause all the girls use to be buzzin’ ‘round him all the time.

The more she told me, the clearer things became to me.

"Honey, or Peter Honey is what they called him, like I said, there was always girls buzzin’ round him, givin’ him thangs ‘n what not. I wasn’t one of ‘em, Lord be praised! I was too deeply involved in the church to get involved in any foolishness. Besides, my Daddy would’ve ripped my hide off of me if I had strayed just this much.

The way the story was told to me, the elders say Peter Honey got up ‘n left here when he was a very young man, ‘bout fo’teen or fifteen years old ‘cause he didn’t wanna work in the fields.

Now I gotta tell ya, this is just what I heard ‘n what people told me. They say he went to the Naw’leans and became one o’them fancy men. Once again I have to say that this is just what I heard ‘n what people told me.

They said that all the men on Peter Honey’s side of the family had got themselves into that bidness with women and all such as that. They even had a rumor, I don’t know how true it was, that one of Peter Honey’s Grandfathers, whilst he was in slavery ‘n what not, had received special favors from the slave master’s wife.

Like I said, I don’t know how true it was, but rumors usually have some kinda foundation, don’t they?"

I came away from those sessions with Momma Joko feeling like Alexander the Great or some damned body. What she reaffirmed for me was that my Grandfathers on my Daddy’s side had started pimping the minute they got sold off the boat. I’ve never felt so damned proud of anything in my whole entire life.

I have to admit, up ‘til that particular time, I had pimped without any real true understanding of my true nature, of my heritage, my pimp DNA, if you want to get deep about it. I just did what I did. Momma Joko laid some stuff on me that had an effect. I don’t think she intended for it to be like that, but that’s the way it turned out.

"Now, son, you have to remember, where we came from, over there in Africa, it was natural for a man to have three or fo’ wives. What do you call it? Po’legamy?

Most of the men folks in our community, ‘specially after slavery, usually had a wife ‘n a girlfriend. Or maybe two or three girlfriends who was like wives. And nobody made a big stink about it."

I could just imagine Peter Honey talking his pimp logic to his prospective hoes in New Orleans. Maybe they were a couple recently freed slave girls….

Now is y’all’s chance to make some serious money. Just ‘cause slavery is over, that don’t mean that the White man done lost a taste for what he used to get for free. Now, since we free, I’m gonna set this shit up properly. If he wants some more of y’alls pussy, he got to pay me.

There was something that Momma Joko said about po’legamy that struck a chord in my brain. What is polygamy? What makes that shit work? I decided to do a lil’ research.

What I came up with was kind of surprising to me. Aside from the Muslim brothers, let’s say in Northern Nigeria, and other places like that, where a man could have four wives according to law, or as many wives as he could support; aside from that religious thing validating polygamy, there was the custom of polygamy, which was about establishing bonds between clans/families.

In addition, wives meant wealth, a labor pool for the fields and a source for creating more labor by having babies in rotation. From what I found out sex was ‘way down on the scale. I mean, I’m sure it must’ve been real nice to have four women to choose from every night. But what man wants some every night?

So, now we have these people who do polygamy get caught up in the slave net. Suddenly their world is turned inside out. Suddenly the slave owners prohibit polygamy and damned near everything else these people are about.

The slave owner becomes the husband for all the women he owns. The record shows that lots of slave owners took full advantage of their positions. I guess that explains why we have such a huge color spectrum amongst our people, amongst African-Americans.

Now then, having said that, you can bet your bottom dollar that the brothers who were enslaved didn’t just suddenly forget about their polygamy. I maintain that it got warped, bent all out of shape during slavery, and remained that way after slavery was over. Maybe this thing that happened turned our polygamous instincts into pimping. I can’t really say, it’s just an idea.

Check it out; let’s look at it this way. When the brothers ‘n sisters were at home, in Mother Africa, the men wanted to have a number of wives ‘cause that meant he had family labor for his fields, and more children, which was a form of wealth.

Now, over here, after slavery, he didn’t own any fields but he could still have as many "wives’/hoes as he was capable of handling.

Personally, I think that’s what promoted pimping in the African-American community. The streets, in a sense, became the fields that the women were working in. So, we leave out the kiddie factor, ‘cause kids would be a problem, not a solution to anything. And wouldn’t mean wealth.

I also think that’s why a lot of hoes refer to their pimp as Daddy. I haven’t had some big time psychologist stick his two cents in about this, it’s just what I think, me personally.

Can White boys pimp? I don’t think so, not in the same down ‘n dirty sense that Black men have pimped, and do pimp. If you look at what I’ve just said about the West African polygamous thing, that means we have this DNA that the White boy does not have.

In all the years I’ve been in the game I’ve never known a bona fide White pimp. I’ve known some White dudes, mostly Italian Mafia types, who were off into what I would choose to call industrialized pimping. Like the Mustang Ranch set up they had in Nevada for so long, but for that nitty-gritty-in-the-street shit, we take the cake, coming ‘n going, I may as well step to this too at this point. What is pimping? How do you define a pimp? What makes a bona fide pimp different from some asshole who’s just simply slapping some woman around and taking her money?

I’m going to quote you what my Daddy, Sweet Peter Deeder I, Lord I feel like busting with pride whenever I think about him what he laid on me. And some of the game that I was exposed to from some of the elite in my field, people like Bishop Don Magic Juan, Sir Marcus, Gorgeous Big Al, Cash Black, Mr. Tootsie Roll, dudes of that caliber.

Sweet Peter Deeder the 1st pimped from his death bed. I was there to witness the whole scene.

Sweets, that’s what he always called me, ‘Sweets’, you’re 21 years old now, you’re on your way up and I’m on my way out.

Awww Daddy, you shouldn’t say that, you’ve got lots of years ahead of you.

I can still remember that cold blooded, lopsided smile of his.

Don’t try to do that with me, ‘Sweets’. I’m bullshit-proof. When a motherfucker has that prostate cancer slip into the bones it’s all over, that’s just the way the shit operates.

Our visit was interrupted by a half dozen cell phone calls.

Yeah bitch this is Sweet Peter Deeder, who the fuck were you calling bitch? Now listen to me close bitch ‘cause I’m not going to repeat myself bitch. Bring the fuckin’ money now. I don’t give a fuck if I’m deader than a doornail bitch, bring it on and if I’m dead by the time you get here bitch, stick the money in the pocket of my pajamas bitch. Got that bitch?

I had to admire Daddy’s pimp attitude – "Look, let’s face it, ‘Sweets’, I am the son of Duke Mansion and I was born and groomed to be a motherfuckin’ pimp. I couldn’t be nothin’ else, and the same with you.

That’s why I’ve taken so much time and effort to clue you into the game, to give you the benefit of my pimp experience … hold on a sec, let me squeeze some more of this shit into my system."

I sat at his bedside for two solid weeks, in one of the best private hospitals in the country, listening to him scan the game over and pump this morphine into his veins. I can tell you one thing; he was quite high when the angels waved their feathers in his face.

A lot of what he said I had already heard, but I think it did him a lot of good to do some underlining for me. There were times when he seemed to be hallucinating, but mostly he was right there…

My Daddy, Duke Mansion, your Granddaddy … was one of the last of a great line of hard pimpin’ motherfuckers, believe me. Most of ‘em are gone now, but I’m glad I had a chance to sit at their feet and absorb the superior pimp wisdom that they offered.

I could say that I had met a few of these hard pimpin’ motherfuckers. People like Fillmore Slim. Iceberg Slim passed before I had a chance to meet him, the great Bishop Don Magic Juan, Sir Marcus, Gorgeous, Big Al, Cash Black, Mr. Tootsie Roll, dudes of that caliber.

"Yeah, ‘Sweets’, I sat at their feet and absorbed as much as I could, but my stone to the bone role model was my Daddy, Duke. Duke initiated me into pimpin’ like it was a fuckin’ secret society or somethin’ …

"Look, Peter, he would say to me, let me explain somethin’ to you about the art of professional pimpin’. Now what you got to understand is the difference between the amateurs and us professionals. We can’t really call some asshole whose slappin’ some bitch around ‘n takin’ her money a pimp. Naw sir, that ain’t pimpin’ that’s petty theft or maybe we could call it robbery.

We can’t call a motherfucker whose sneakin’ up behind some bitch ‘n fuckin’ her brains out for $10.00 or a $100.00 a pimp. That’s emotional fraud.

Real pimpin’, bona fide pimpin’ is hard, lonely work. Let me explain that. Hold on a sec … I told ‘Lady Bliss’ to call me."

‘Lady Bliss’ is what he had named this gorgeous Tutsi woman he had; she was black as charcoal and stood damned near six feet in her bare feet. He told me that he had pulled her right off the campus of the University of Chicago – ‘What the fuck are you gonna do with your life?! You gonna go to school, get a fuckin’ degree in art history or some fuckin’ thing and try to make ends meet for the rest of your fuckin’ academic life. Get with me ‘n you’ll be on top of the world in two or three years!’ She had been in his stable for five years.

"Sweet Peter Deeder, the motherfuckin’ pimp speaking. What’s up Bliss? Did you do what I told you to do bitch? Bitch shut up! Don’t be talkin’ when I’m talkin’.

How much did you get? Bitch, is that all the money you got for me? What the fuck I’m gonna do with 1,500.00 fuckin’ dollars? I sent your ass on a special date all the way to New York City bitch. Shut the fuck up, don’t you hear me talkin’?!

You got a big time date with this freak ass White boy bitch, who owns half of New York state and bitch you tellin’ me you back here with only $1,500.00?

Bitch lemme tell you somethin’ bitch – you comin’ to see me tomorrow bitch, bitch that money better be doubled bitch, you got that bitch! Shut the fuck up ‘til I finish! You know what to do, you my star hoe, now get on out there ‘n turn some tricks ‘n get Daddy’s money right. I’ll see you tomorrow."

I waited for him to calm down a little before I urged him on. There was no one else in this world that I loved to have talk to me more than him.

‘Sweets’, where was I?

You were talkin’ about bona fide pimping.

"Uhhuh, yeahhh. Well, I know some folks might think I’m ‘old school’ ‘cause I’m so hard ‘n cold on a bitch, but that’s how I was trained. I must pimp hard ‘cause I expect the hoe to hoe hard, it’s like a fuckin’ mathematical equation – I pimp hard. The hoe must hoe hard.

Make no doubt about it, hoes was hoein’ before pimpin’ got started. But once we got into it the game got good. We, us pimps, started setting up some goals and some rules. ‘Stead of a bitch hangin’ out half the night gettin’ pissy drunk in some bar, or goin’ off with somebody to sell a lil’ piece, we organized the shit.

I see the pimp as a one man union, that’s the way I see us. Now I don’t have to tell you, you’ve found out already how tough it is to organize shit, to righteously pimp. Lots of people hate pimps because they don’t really understand what we do.

There was a time, swear fo’ God! When I used to actually get pissed off by these square ass motherfuckers, with their square assed minds, getting an attitude about me ‘n what I do.

None of ‘em, not one of ‘em has the slightest notion of what we have to go through. All they can see is the big cars, the clothes, the hoes. They can’t connect that to the discipline we have to have, the hours we put in, the effort that is required to maintain.

A hard workin’ motherfuckin’ pimp don’t get no days off. Even when we are supposed to be havin’ some down time you still must be alert, sharp and keen as a fresh honed straight razor. Otherwise you will not survive.

As Fillmore Slim used to say, Be good to the game and the game will be good to you.

I’ve always been struck by three things I’ve found in superior pimps and superior hoes. Number one, attitude. That attitude must be there, it must be correct or else nobody will do good work, neither the pimp nor the hoe.

Number two, I know this is gonna surprise you …"

He did his Theatrical Pause, with his left eyebrow raised, with just the hint of a smile.

Humor. The grade A pimp and the grade A hoe must have a sense of humor. Now lemme tell you what I mean by that …

Go ‘head, tell me – tell me – tell me. That was a bit surprising – humor?

"Yeah, I know that might sound a bit off the wall, but you have to understand I ain’t talkin’ about Ha Ha Ha humor, I’m talkin’ about something much deeper than that.

Remember Cash Black?"

How could I ever forget Cash Black? The master pimp who once had twenty two hoes on the west coast and six in Hawaii.

Cash Black used to say – If you thinking about life with your heart it’s got to be a tragedy, if you thinking about life with your head, it’s got to be a comedy." That’s what he used to say. It all sounded like a bunch o’ bullshit to me at first. But after I thought about it for awhile, I realized that what he was sayin’ was the honest to God buck naked truth.

If you got a