Beyond the Yellow Tape: Life & Death on the Streets of Dc: Life & Death on the Streets of Dc

By Curtis E Mozie

Curtis Mozie, known on the streets as C-Webb is without a doubt a leader in Washington DC. He spends every waking moment trying to prevent gangs and gun violence on the streets of DC. With the creation of Tale of the Tape Foundation, Curtis produces films that document the lives and death of 65 of his friends murdered by gun violence. He has been a catalyst for positive change for over twenty years, earning
the trust of both police officers and gang members having been a police officer himself, its incredible that gangs have allowed him to intimately explore their violent and brutal world. His video camera captures their day-to-day lives playing basketball and also their candidness in interviews at his apartment, which is known as the Safe House, a place where at risk youth come to be mentored on life skills, and to have someone hear their problems and concerns. When one of them gets killed or injured in gang violence, Curtis is there to mourn the lost with family members. He then creates a montage of their lives and deaths in a video tribute-lessons learned. Curtis without a doubt is a unique individual a community hero for DC Mothers, and Fathers. Hes appeared on numerous news media outlets across the world. His message is an unfaltering dedication and commitment to making the streets of DC safer for everyone. He now works at the Kennedy Recreation Center for the Department of Parks & Recreation working with youth and serving the community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477180501

Curtis E Mozie

Curtis Mozie, known on the streets as C-Webb is without a doubt a leader in Washington DC. He spends every waking moment trying to prevent gangs and gun violence on the streets of DC. With the creation of Tale of the Tape Foundation, Curtis produces films that document the lives and death of 65 of his friends murdered by gun violence. He has been a catalyst for positive change for over twenty years, earning the trust of both police officers and gang members having been a police officer himself, its incredible that gangs have allowed him to intimately explore their violent and brutal world. His video camera captures their day-to-day lives playing basketball and also their candidness in interviews at his apartment, which is known as the Safe House, a place where at risk youth come to be mentored on life skills, and to have someone hear their problems and concerns. When one of them gets killed or injured in gang violence, Curtis is there to mourn the lost with family members. He then creates a montage of their lives and deaths in a video tribute-lessons learned. Curtis without a doubt is a unique individual a community hero for DC Mothers, and Fathers. Hes appeared on numerous news media outlets across the world. His message is an unfaltering dedication and commitment to making the streets of DC safer for everyone. He now works at the Kennedy Recreation Center for the Department of Parks & Recreation working with youth and serving the community.

Book preview

Forward

Stop the violence! This true statement is heard around the world countless times each day. In whatever form or language, it is usually the first thing said after a deadly shooting. Stop the violence! for most people however it is just an expression out of anger. In fact when challenged with the words, Stop the violence, and what parts can you play in stopping it? The response is always, what do you expect me to do about it, I can’t stop it by myself, its gotten out of hand, says many law-abiding folks.

And getting out of hand was what it was so what would be the next step, well I didn’t have to look far for the answer, you see I Curtis Mozie aka C-Webb decided to do something about it. And while doing so the news reports of my gun violence prevention crusade began to spread to the very distant parts of the earth reaching not just the poor and underserved, but also the rich and famous thus exposing them to a world that they never new existed.

(Says Nas a famous rapper from New York City who I showed my gun violence documentary film at his home.)

We in Miami tonight, my man C-Webb on the camera from Dc looked out for a brother that was about to get murdered by some other young brothers, but if they knew the truth about who’s trying to murder all of us, we wouldn’t want to kill each other.

If we knew the truth who’s behind trying to kill all of us young black brothers, we would never aim a gun at each other.

That’s real. we would know who’s out there killing us. They have been killing us for five hundred years.

You young brothers, you riders, I love you all. If you want to ride, ride for the right cause.

(C-Webb) Hey nas, how you feel about the work that I am doing in Dc?

(Nas), I love the work that you are doing because the work is pure and genuine. You understand…

Its not like someone paying you a million dollars to do this sh*t. You deserve a 100 million for what you do.

Ain’t nobody paying you a million dollars every time you pick up that damn camera.

You’re doing it because your heart pumps that blood of a slave, heart of a king that’s what the black man is.

After bringing awareness about gun violence mayhem to the rap world via Nas, this time I took a long shot and brought in the N.B.A. to the safe house via 5 time all-star, TnT host Chris Webber to see the film Gun violence prevention lessons learned. As Chris Webber enters the safe house and sees the memorials of the youth murdered by handguns hanging on the wall he began saying, this is real man, hey god’s going to bless you, you’re an angel for real.

(Chris Webber begins to read the names of those murdered hanging on my wall, Rest in peace LeCount, Santino, Lee Butler, Lee Marshall, Scooter Day-day, K.d.p, Walter, Mickey-P, Fuzzy, Johnnie. Then after viewing the video Chris say’s its crazy that you Knew all of these people man. This is real man, ain’t nobody else doing this. Its people with billions of dollars, ain’t nobody else doing this. Words that I know to be true, we are bombarded by the senseless acts of violence taking place around the world, for well over 27 years I have been documenting and filming the streets of Washington, Dc capturing life & death on tape which I have transcribed into a real life lessons learned history book. I truly believe and its been proving that these events

Depicted through out this book will touch many and save lives. A story you shouldn’t want to miss.

Chapter 1

Another Friend Murdered,

I Got Him on Tape.

The time was 10:35 PM I had just gotten off the 70 metro bus at 7th & P street northwest I noticed the block ahead was blocked with police cars and yellow crime scene tape, seeing this I began to get nervous as hell, what the f*ck?, not again, not again, another shooting in the neighborhood who is it this time? Another friend of mine.

Then I began to ask myself, where were the police they know this is a high crime spot, earlier that day I seen police officers all over the community riding in scout cars and walking their assigned foot beats.

They even had officers on scooters patrolling now where were they when this all went down tonight damn. But then I thought I can’t blame the police. They didn’t pull the trigger nor shoot anyone no.

They are doing their part in trying to stop this, by setting up road blocks thru the All hands on deck implemented by chief Cathy Lanier which has reduced crime throughout the city making it a safe place for people to live. But what people do, they start complaining about having the police out in their neighborhoods claiming that their constitution rights are being violated, but from me, I love seeing the police out in full force all hands on deck. It gives hard working people like you and I a chance of surviving and being safe, god bless you Chief, we need more of them, all hands on deck is a blessing. Because these crime spree neighborhood shootings was driving me crazy. As I raced toward the yellow tape the night temperature was mild the sky had that scary dark look as the moon shinned it’s light over the clouds the rain showers had subsided leaving the streets wet. As I reached the crime scene, numerous police cars with their lights flashing were blocking the streets off, a news vehicle was making it’s way toward the crime scene. I recognized a friend of mine whom had tears running down his face we made eye contact.

He stated that Big Hijo… Big Hijo he’s gone C-Webb… he’s gone.

They shot him in the head… right there C-Webb right there as he begins pointing to the spot where Big Hijo fell dead on the hard concrete floor near some stairs. I shouted out, oh no, not him, not him. Big Hijo, are you sure man? Than moments later it was confirmed as many of Big Hijo’s friends rushed to the scene where they were crying and shaking their heads asking why did this have to happen to him? I looked straight ahead with my two hands over top of my head thinking, What the hell is on their minds? I thought to myself. What does all of the work that our great leaders fought for back in the 60s, 70s, and earlier mean to this generation, who seems to only know that the way to solve a dispute is with a handgun? As of now, I have lost sixty of my personal friends to the streets. That’s right, sixty friends! These are people with whom I had gotten close to.

Damn! I am getting mad as hell by just thinking about the things that we had done together. I knew this Youngman for years along with his family. What a lost, I’ve been filming him since he was a teenager growing up in his community with his friends and family. Recently I just filmed him a block away from this crime scene at 7th & N street northwest at the location where his child hood friend was also murdered shot in the head a Youngman name Christian Taylor, that day while I was filming him, Big Hijo gave a shout out to his friend Chris, rest in peace says Big Hijo, we miss you so much. now he’s been murdered and I would have to now prepare a video documentary about him another friend murdered on the streets of DC then at which time I painfully pulled out my video camera and begin filming the aftermath of yet another friend of mine being taken away by the streets. At which time I thought to myself, this crime wave taking place in DC had no distinctions between night or day, night time wasn’t the only time that violence was taking place just the other day in broad day light… . The time was 1:45 PM I was at my day job at a community recreation center located at 7th & ONW a community which has its share of violence and gang shootings something which numerous communities throughout DC were facing that day while at work I was standing in the front lobby area looking through the large see thru glass windows and doors given me a view of the passing cars and a scene directly across the street where the Old historic O-Street Market stood with its boarded up doors.

That moment while looking across the street I recognized a good friend of mine a youngman whom I call Lil Wayne. I’ve known him for years as he frequents the recreation center where I work and he plays in basketball leagues that are held there while looking at Lil Wayne I noticed something weird that was taking place. Wayne was what at the time appeared to me to be running and hopping on one leg while making motions as if he was in a lot of pain.

At which time I starred at him for a moment because something just didn’t seem right, as I looked on I noticed that Lil Wayne was in trouble in some way don’t know what it was at the moment but I just knew something wasn’t right and at which time my antenna’s went up and my heart began to beat very fast because once again I was getting that feeling that another friend of mines may be shot although I didn’t hear any gun shots this time I was sensing that this young man had just gotten shot across the street in broad day light. And man was I right, At which time I shouted out loud to those in the lobby area, they just shot Lil Wayne they just shot Lil Wayne at which time I had instantly ran towards the front doors yelling back to my co-worker Mr. Oscar Taylor to dial 911 there’s been a shooting across the street, Lil Wayne shot in the leg at which time as I ran out across the busy street intersection cars were driving by as usual unaware that a shooting just occurred and that the victim was running for his life as I dashed out into the street cars began to blow there horns at me as if I was a crazy person or something but I was unknown to them rushing to the aid of a gunshot victim.

As I made it across the busy intersection I could see my man Lil Wayne running hopping on one foot while in a lot of pain I than yelled out, Wayne what’s going on he tells me that someone just shot him in the leg at which time I could see blood pouring out of Wayne’s leg near his foot at which time I realized that I needed to use something to stop the blood from pouring out of his foot so I took off my tank top white tee shirt and wrapped it around his foot to help slow down the bleeding at which time numerous people that lived in the community began to walk up and see what was going on as a small crowd was growing around us. At that time as I was attending to my man Lil Wayne I began to think about if I needed to move him to another location than where we were at now which is 7th & O directly on the corner side walk in plain view because after all there were street beefs going on and at this exact location where we were at numerous people have been shot or killed here that’s why I had to think about that at the moment, would the gunmen come back and try to finish what he started possible hitting everyone whom was around this young man, who knows than as I sitting there with this young man I am waiting for the police to arrive to make it safe for everyone, me the victim the community as always in most of these urban drive by shootings I am most of the time always the first one on the scene before the police arrive tending to the victims and filming the events with my video camera.

As he lay on the side walk ground holding up his foot with a gunshot wound I was there with him telling him he will be alright just hold on the ambulance is on the way than at which time I decided to pull out my video phone and document and film what was taking place. Than at which time we all began to hear from a distance a sound that everyone loves to hear when in distress, the sound of a police car speeding towards our direction yes I thought to myself the police is here, then I seen several uniformed DC police officers and Housing Officers run up towards us and began to investigate about what had just taking place. they began to place yellow crime scene tape all around the area to protect the crime scene my video phone camera captured all of that. than at which time to my surprise there was another shooting victim a few yards away from this one. so at which time I headed towards the other unknown shooting victim whom was also stretched out on the concrete sidewalk suffering from a bullet to his foot. An this young man was no stranger to me as a youth I was his mentor I was very close to him and his family, his mother Chawn and grandmother Mrs. Providence whom also lost a son. Dre was shot in his foot and the blood lost was so bad that it turned his white socks completely red. I stayed next to him comforting him and telling him that he was going to make it than at which time I could see his grandmother running towards us with a freighted look on her face. At which time she yells out Dre, Dre.

I than grabbed her and held onto her telling her that he would be alright, he’s just shot in the foot area. than at which time Ms Providence pulls out her cell phone and calls Dre’s mother to inform her of what just happened to her only son. But due to all that was going on Ms. Providence was too emotional to dial the number so she had me do it. When I reached Chawn and told her the bad news, all I could hear through the phone speaker was Dre’s mother yelling and screaming my baby, my baby, at that moment while hearing that boys mother going thru that trauma moment I all most lost it myself busting out crying because I was going thru in my mind the other times when I had to comfort numerous mothers crying for their love ones that had been shot or killed on the streets. But I held back now wasn’t the time for me too get to ensued on what was taking place I had a job to do and that I did. I finally got Dre’s mother to calm down by ensuring her that he was ok. and yes I had my video phone on capturing every moment. Than finally the ambulance arrived as more police scout cars pulling up on the scene. the ambulance medic than asked me if these two gunshot victims knew each other, I stated yes sir, they are friends the reason why he asked was because these two victims could have shot one another so they the ambulance crew had to know this in case they had to separate the two while transporting them to the hospitals. That moment I could see numerous news media camera men filming the crime scene getting shots of the yellow tape that was wrapped around the street intersection where the shooting victims were at. They both were placed into the same ambulance and driven away to the hospital. Than at which time as I always do after a big shooting incident as this my hand began to tremble and shake uncontrolled and sending a cold chill thru my body than at which time I ducked up under the yellow tape and headed back to work at the recreation center shaking my head not believing what had taken place out here in broad day light.

And to top it off, let this info shock you the way it messed me up! I really feel like I am about to explode. How can three young black men living on the same damn block right next door to each other get killed one by one? That’s right, three good friends got murdered one after the other. And to know, I was close to all three of them as if I was their big brother!

But the sad news does not stop there. I filmed each one of the three friends that were murdered, with my video camera a few years before their untimely deaths. I had the pleasure of interviewing each one of them on my video camera, giving a video tribute to their falling homies that died before them. This is what’s driving me crazy, people! How in the hell did I know to go and record these young men a month or even a year before they would be murdered on the streets? How was it that all the time I was in the right place at the right time to be able to capture all of the sad events that I had filmed out on the streets with my video camera?

This was baffling me. It was beginning to seem like everyone that I was recording on tape was in someway being shot and gunned down on the streets or killed. That thought was messing me up. Could I someway and somehow been giving some kind of special force or intuition as to when someone’s life was about to come to an end?

As I was just thinking about everything that’s going on, things were just flying through my head like crazy. There I was over the house of one of the three young men that was murdered with my video camera interviewing them as they remembered their homie that was just killed on the streets. I am sitting there watching these kids through the lens of my video camera as they were crying and pouring out their hearts for him.

Then later on that week, I was at the funeral recording the two remaining friends as they stood over top of their dead friend, crying as he lay in an open casket. Then a few months later, I was at the next murdered victim’s family’s house documenting them as they grieved for their child in the same way as the first friend who was murdered. This is crazy!

Then a few months later, I once again had to film and document the second person and close friend that was now murdered. I captured on my video camera the last surviving friend at his buddy’s funeral. He leaned over and gave his homie a good-bye kiss as he wept.

Then once again, I had to go and do another documentary on the last and final friend and neighbor who is now dead and gone. I thought to myself, This is not real. It can’t be. What were the odds of all of that happening the way that it did? Am I living in a different time zone or something? This is not a game. You wanna-to-be gangsters, better wake the hell up now and smell the gun smoke! These people were real! These are kids that really enjoyed life and being with their homies and were murdered and shot down like they were nothing. These people had children and families that they left behind. Not by choice, but rather by the hands of someone else who decided to play God or high judge.

Do they not know that there’s a true living God who sees everything and who will make those out there doing these killings reap what they sow. For those doing the killing, you may escape the justice of the law, but as for the creator of all things, you shall not. I just felt so bad knowing that there were a lot of organizations in existence that were trying their best to stop these kids from getting involved in such deadly behavior. I have even been talking to these kids for what seems like forever, mentoring them and filming them with my video camera.

They often visited my safe house throughout the years. This safe house was actually the front room of my apartment house that I had converted into a safe haven for many of the youth and some adults that had problems on the streets with other folks, and they needed a place to come to and talk with someone about their problems and the beefs on the streets.

Many of the safe house visitors were deeply involved in the gang war beefs that were taking place throughout the urban communities. Many of them were looking for a way out, but many of them told me while I was interviewing them with my video camera, We’re stuck in the game C-Webb. We got nobody but you, man.

This is a statement that I knew too well to be true. Many of their parents were dead, on drugs, or locked up in prison somewhere out of state. So it seemed like when they came to me, they wanted to tell me their story as if they felt like I truly understood what they were actually going through as they were trying to survive on these rough and dangerous streets.

I would like to know how this could be happening in America. Someone please tell me how Corporate America can put a man on the moon, yet it can’t help to get the guns off our streets that our young people are using to destroy one another?

Ahhhh! (In frustration.) We can use nine billion dollars to fight a damn war overseas and make other folks streets safe, yet turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to what’s happening to our young African American males who are slowly being made extinct from our population.

As you continue reading, you’ll read about my early days of growing up in the city of Philadelphia to the time when I moved to DC and about the video camera that I had borrowed from my big brother Dana Mozie Jr. I would go on and make history documenting the life and death of well over hundred of my personal friends that would wind up being murdered out on the streets of DC. I captured it all on tape with my video camera and turned them into lesson plans to be used by our next generation of youth who, if not for the videotapes, would come along and mistakenly follow that same path to destruction and death.

I must warn you—prepare yourself. What you are about to read is going to hurt, but it’s a true story which took place right here in DC—our nation’s capital. Through the powers to be, I was allowed to tag along with many crews in very hostile environments and document via film the daily life events, which in many cases would be their last living memory of them alive. These were all being captured in the most powerful city in the whole world, Washington DC.

Chapter 2

The City of Philadelphia

My name is Curtis Mozie. I was born in the city of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. My mother’s name is late Barbara Mozie, and my father’s name is the late Mr. Dana Mozie Sr. I have two brothers and three sisters. We lived in a two-story, red-bricked house at 2710 West Erye Street in West Philadelphia surrounded by several abandoned houses. We shared that house with my grandmother, the late Helen Thompson, and my aunt, the late Linda Jones, and my cousins, Anthony Jones and Lisa Jones.

The city of Philadelphia at that time was a low-income poverty city. One didn’t have to look far to see why the city was a low-income city. They had trash piled up on the street corners. The streets were in disarray. The lamp poles that were supposed to light up the streets at night failed to come on sometimes. The alleys were very narrow and barely wide enough for a large person to walk through without difficulty. Trash was always lined up in the alley with everything from beer bottles to dead cats to anything that could be thrown there.

Our family was just like the other families living back then, struggled to survive. Some nights we went to bed hungry. Many times we had to sleep in the dark because we could not afford to pay the electric bill. Thank god, our house was paid for. Thanks to my grandmother who owned it.

I could remember my father coming home always fussing at my mother about something. At times, it would lead to a fight or two. My young brothers and sisters and I witnessed our parents arguing many times over little stuff. I figured that it was just the pain of them trying to survive and taking care of us.

One fight I would never forget as long as I live occurred when I was about six years old. One night, we were all in bed. It was two o’clock in the morning when there was a knock at the door downstairs. It happened to be my father. He appeared to be tipsy from drinking out all night. So as he came into the house, my mother met him downstairs on the first floor and inquired to where he had been. My father responded that he had been with some of his buddies at the bar which was a few blocks from where we lived.

Then all hell broke loose and my mom and dad began to fight again. The fight started downstairs and somehow ended upstairs in the back room where my father and mother sleep. By that time everyone in the house was awaken by all the noise and commotion. My aunt Linda was always the referee trying to break them apart as they tussled back and forth. I could remember standing there watching that horrible scene pay out. In fact, I can recall being knocked down as I got in the way of the tussle. Then my father fell down on the dresser, which had a large mirror on top of it. The mirror broke in half. My mom grabbed a piece of the mirror and hit my father on top of his forehead. That ended the fight. My dad just lay on the floor passed out with blood streaming down his face. My aunt quickly came to his aid. Morning it would all be forgotten as my parents prepared for the next day.

The block we lived on had many folks that hung out a lot. There were the older ones that were looked up to by the kids of our age. There wasn’t much to do in Philly anyway. They just didn’t have anything for the youth to do. A few of the things that one could do was to go to the swimming pool or go to the courtyard and play basketball. Sometimes you would just walk around the streets all day long looking for something to get into whether good or bad. My grandmother basically raised us because my father spent a lot of time in DC with his family and parents, the late Evangelines, sister Mozie, and the late Philip Mozie. They had a house on Sixth Street, Northwest, Washington DC. They owned that house for years. In fact, since I was a little boy.

Chapter 3

Born In a Strange Place

Where the Sirens Whale?

Late one night in November 1965, while my mother was carrying me during her pregnancy, she began to experience labor pains and called the ambulance. It took them too long to respond to our home. There was a police officer driving by. My dad flagged him down and asked him if he could transport them to the hospital in his police car. The officer agreed and loaded everyone into the police car in the backseat at which time my dad said that on the way to the hospital while in the backseat of the police car that I was coming into the world. My mom was screaming in pain and telling the officer that it’s coming. Hurry up, the baby is coming! The police officer had his sirens whaling and his lights flashing. You know, it’s weird, I could have swore I heard that damn siren whaling.

Just kidding, but anyway the police car finally made it to the hospital just in time as the nurses put my mother on the stretcher and rushed her to the delivery room while I was still coming out of my mother’s womb. So in other words, half of me was born in a police car and the other half was born in the hospital. I was born a few days after Thanksgiving, November 26. I was the turkey, I guess. Back during that time, we lived at 3217 West Diamond Street. It was a run-down apartment building near Fairmont Park. Many of the folks that lived there were low-level income people. Back then, rent wasn’t as expensive as it is now. A two-bedroom would run you around $110.00 a month. This would include the electric and gas in many cases. My family always made sure that we had a roof over our head.

Chapter 4

On the Critical List

My dad told me that when I was about two years old, I had become seriously ill. My mother and father took me to the hospital emergency room to see what was wrong with me. My parents told me that the doctors took me out of my mother’s arms and immediately went to work on me. While the doctors were performing tests to diagnose my condition, my mom and dad waited to hear from them.

As my mother waited nervously, the doctors came into the room and told my mother that I had a serious case of pneumonia and I would not be going home with them that night. In fact, they kept me for two weeks. The doctors told my father that if they had not brought me in that night, there was a high chance that I would have been dead the next morning because my lungs were so clogged up with cold that my lungs would have collapsed while I was asleep.

I was placed in the intensive care unit of the hospital. Days went past before I was discharged and back in my mother’s arms again.

How did I get sick? Well, it could have been that the gas furnace was not working, so we did not have heat in our home during the winter months.

Before I returned home from the hospital, the landlord repaired the furnace, and we had heat again.

Chapter 5

At the Park Gang Fighting

Most of the time, my father would take me and my brothers over to the park at thirty-third and Diamond Street. The park at thirty-third was a popular spot where the guys played pickup basketball games. Most of the day, the park was full of NBA wanna be’s. Many of the guys that played ball also had their children there with them. So they would let us kids play on the side of the park where they had the swings, sandboxes, and the bike path trail.

Many times I had to sit and watch my father play ball because it would just be him and me. There were no other kids to run around with and he would not let me run around alone. I had to sit there alone until he finished playing basketball.

Some days when my brothers were with me, we would walk along the bike path inside of the park and mess with the beehives, the worms in the ground, or an egg nest. We would also stand near the creek and throw rocks.

Sometimes as we threw rocks, we would hear our dad calling out to us to come to him quick and fast. We knew from the tone of his voice what was happening. Another gang fight was about to take place in the park near the basketball court! As we dashed toward my dad for cover, I saw a lot of people crowded together near the ball court. They were holding knives, sticks, and baseball bats.

This was very scary to me to see what was about to unfold. I was terrified, but I kept looking back out of curiosity to see what would happen. I would feel my father’s hands grabbing my shirt as he pulled me and my brothers down the street to safety toward our house.

Before we could make it even half way to our house, we heard what seemed like hell breaking loose! Bottles were smashed and thrown! People were yelling out gang phrases and throwing out gang signs. Some of those fighting were stabbed. Then we heard the sound of police sirens in the distance coming to catch the bad guys that were fighting and disturbing the peace.

The park police traveled by horses to respond to the gang fights. I remember the horses would stand up on their hind legs and make that loud and scary sound while kicking their two front legs.

Back then, Philly was up to it head in dealing with the gangs. It seemed like everyone in the city Philly belonged to or was a part of a gang. There was the twenty-seventh and Montgomery Avenue gang. They were a large gang. Their territory was as long as four or five blocks on the avenue, and the avenue went so far down in block size north to south.

Other gangs were the Diamond Street Gang, The Broad Way Gang, the Fairmont Park Gang, and the Dolphin Street Gang. I can’t remember all of them because there were so many.

My brothers and I were exposed to the gangs because of where we lived, 2710 West Eyre Street. West Eyre Street was a home base, hangout spot for the twenty-seventh & Eyre Street Crew. They were a group of about fifteen to twenty young men. Some lived on our street.

There was no way around them. I saw a lot of things they were doing—selling drugs, smoking drugs, and shooting drugs. Many times some of them would try to impress us with what they were doing—living that lifestyle and showing us their money and guns.

I was really shocked when I saw a real gun for the first time. Even though I was at a young age, the guy took us in the courtyard behind our house to show it to us. I remember it being a silver snub nose .38 special. He let us touch it. I was so scared at first, then I got used to touching it. I began to play with it in my pants pocket making quick draws like I was in a gunfight in the wild, wild, west movies. The gun felt so heavy to me.

I was having fun pulling the gun out of my pocket again and again real fast while pulling the trigger. Click. Click. Click. Then for some unknown reason, I began to feel bad thinking about what I was doing. I knew it wasn’t right. My parents taught me better than that. I knew not to play around with real guns.

I also knew not to hang around gang members. It seemed like we were being recruited by the old head gangbangers. For a while, it seemed like it was working. I was the youngest of the group, yet I was not afraid to take the lead and do whatever they were trying to do.

We hung in an abandoned house, which was like a club, hangout spot. The guys that lived on our block would come here to meet or just hangout. It was a perfect spot laid back in the cut out of sight. There was an old couch in the abandoned house. Our chairs were empty milk crates that were set together in a circle.

I witnessed so many things taking place in that house from people having sex to using drugs. I saw dope needles lying all over the place. There was so much junk and trash that had piled up over time.

Chapter 6

Here They Come

On the streets of Philadelphia on a nice, quiet day, it seemed like everyone was outside hanging out on the block. Some of the kids were in the street playing jump rope. Some were playing handball, a game you would play using a tennis ball. One would hit the ball up against a wall and the next person must hit the ball against the wall without letting it hit twice on the ground. If a player let the ball bounce twice, he would lose. That was one of our favorite games to play in Philly on the block. It was like a family picnic atmosphere. We had the ice-cream truck outside selling our favorite ice-cream cones. They were sold for about twenty-five cents. They had several flavors. My favorite was ice lime. Ooooh! It was so good!

Then the old heads would get a monkey wrench and use it to cut on the water hydrant so we could play in the water and cool off. I miss those days. They were so much fun. It seemed like every block was opening up the water hydrants to cool off during the hot dog days. Even the police would drive by and roll up their windows to get a free car wash from the water jetting from the hydrant.

Now, this was the way it was supposed to be chilling in the hood with everybody out enjoying themselves, right? Think again. Fun times didn’t last too long in Philly.

As usual, when everyone was doing their own thing enjoying themselves, all activities would come to an abrupt halt when we would hear that famous warning coming from around the corner. "Here they come! Here they come! People get your kids in the house. They are coming now!"

That warning is the warning that no one wanted to hear, but on the flip side, they really wanted and need to hear because it would save many lives from the fast approaching danger. The danger was a rival street gang that was coming to make a surprise attack on the twenty-seventh & Eyre Crew. This crew was from the block where my family lived.

What chaos! Hell broke loose! Everybody became frantic. Mothers were running outside grabbing their children and rushing them in the house. Siblings were grabbing each other. People were panicking and screaming and were scared as hell!

The guy that was giving the warning was running and sweating profusely. He kept looking behind him while running to see if the gang was coming around the corner to attack us.

For some reason, I was scared, but then again, I wasn’t. I was always one of the last to run for cover into our house just a few houses down the block.

The gang lived on our block. They were all preparing to defend themselves and our neighborhood. They were knocking on fellow gang members’ doors yelling out, Let’s get ready, ya’! Let’s get ready, ya’! They were getting their knives and baseball bats. One even had a sword like the kind used in Chinese movies. They had guns and even a shotgun.

When I saw all of that, I said to myself, OK, now it’s time to get my butt in the house. So I dashed toward the house, but they were coming from the other end of the block right toward us. They were running fast, too! It seemed like there were fifteen to twenty of them. I wasn’t planning on staying to get an accurate count, so I was like a ghost—gone!

When I reached my house, all we heard was yelling and fighting. They were fighting on cars. Windows were broken out. Bottles were being thrown.

At the beginning of the fights, you would never hear gun fire. Only when one side was losing bad or when one of the gang members was in a life and death position, the gunfire would erupt and you knew that everything was about to finish. People were shot. Some were stabbed. Some had broken bones from the swings of baseball bats and sticks.

I had an uncle named Earl, but his nickname was Flame. I am not sure how he got that name. Uncle Flame was a true gangsta. It seemed like every crew wanted a piece of him. He would wear a black bandana most of the time. He was about five feet eleven and about 150 lbs. He had a muscular-type body frame.

Word on the streets was that my uncle Flame was a hell-of-a-fighter! That’s why the gang members never fought him one-on-one. They would lose and lose real bad. So the only way they could win is if they jumped him. That’s what they did many times, but he always came back strong. That’s why he was the leader of his gang. He was tough.

I can remember many times that he would have my brothers, our cousin Anthony Jones, and me in the front room teaching us how to hold up our guards from an attacker and how to fight. Many times my uncle would start punching on me and hitting me in the chest. He would yell at me, Take it like a man, boy! I would always try to protect my chest from his blows, but when I let my guard down, bam! He would get me again.

Sometimes during the surprise attacks, we wouldn’t get that warning from someone running through the streets. I would see them sometimes sneaking up from behind cars with weapons, looking for my Uncle Flame and the other gang members.

This was the way of the streets. Anything could happen at any time.

Another incident happened. One night, my family and I were in bed trying to sleep when we heard banging on the front door. It was a man my father knew. My dad and the man were good friends. He had been over our house before. He was screaming for help because gang members were running behind him with a machine gun.

Everyone in our house had woken up from hearing all the drama that was happening outside our front door. My mother asked my father to call the police, but our phone was off. My father let the man inside our house. He told the man to hide in our kitchen until the people that were chasing him left the block.

I ran to the bottom of the stairs and saw the man shaking and trembling with fear. I began to think about my family’s safety. What if the guys break into our house and try to hurt us because we were harboring the guy they were chasing? They could kill and shoot us, too.

As the man hid under our table, shaking and scared, my father yelled at us to get our butts back up the stairs and in the bed. We ran like crazy to our bedrooms and closed our doors as quick as we could.

After a while when everything was quiet, my father was looking out the window to see if the coast was clear. It was. So my father let the guy out the back kitchen door into the night to fend for himself. Whatever the reason for chasing this guy, there was one thing for certain. My father did open his door for someone in dire need and whose life depended on someone caring and helping him. My father provided that. That night our house was a safe house and safe haven. Something that would play an even greater role in my life once we moved to Washington DC.

Chapter 7

Avoiding the Gang Life Was Hard To Do

As time went on and we were constantly in the heart of the gang activity, my brothers and I were living in the atmosphere of the everyday life of a gangsta and gangs. There were drugs, money, and weapons that came with that lifestyle. Many times our father would tell us, Don’t even think about it! He was referring to the gangsta and gang lifestyles. Not while we were in his house were we allowed to participate. My father and mother constantly taught us about the gang life in Philly.

The school that we attended was named Kelly Miller. It covered four-squared blocks on the avenue. It has outdoor basketball courts. The backboards were made out of metal. They were the square-type ones. The rims never had any strings on them, which made it harder to score.

The inside of the school building was very well kept and clean. What always caught my eyes was when I would walk through the front doors, there was a beautiful picture of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It was a colorful portrait of him. I would stare at that picture for long periods of time. It seemed to mesmerize me and has always meant a lot to me.

The person on the picture was a true leader that believed in nonviolence. Sometimes in the morning, the school would play some of his speeches on the school intercom. Hearing his voice making those famous speeches sent chills through my heart! He was my hero and a very brave man. He stood for peace and justice.

There was not much for the youth to do back then except for being a part of a gang. Our parents continually told us to stay away from the gangs. My brothers and I would always agree with our parents because we were seeing the consequences of gangbanging.

Then one day, our parents’ worst nightmare came true. We were part of the gang. It happened so fast! Our dad went to Washington DC to get a job. While he was gone those few months, my brother, my cousins, and I had started our own young-ins’ gang. Since we had an adult gang on our block, we decided to name ours the Twenty-Seventh & Eyre Street Young-Ins.

Just like that, we had gotten sucked in by being in that environment and not having our father there to keep us straight. I look back and recall those days of being in the gang at such a young age. There were about six of us. We were just getting started. We carried weapons and everything just like our old head gangstas. I used to carry around a twenty-five-seven shot automatic handgun. It was crazy how heavy it was! I had to walk around with one hand holding up my pants because it was so heavy the weight would pull my pants down. I never had to use it.

My other favorite weapon back then was an eight-inch steak knife. Yep, eight inches. I would have to wrap it up in a newspaper and stick it in my back pocket and pull my T-shirt over it. I had to keep it on me for protection. I had to pull it before, but just like the gun, I never had to use it.

Our gang for some reason would have to always fight the Diamond Street Crew. They would come from around the corner, and before you know it, we would be rumbling right in the middle of the street. We were Young-Ins out there imitating our old heads. We were fighting, punching, kicking, and throwing bottles and bricks just like them.

Our parents would come out from their houses, grab us by our shirts, and make us go back into the house. By that time, the Diamond Street Gang would have run back to their territory. This scenario would play out many times.

Our crew had a sweet hiding place right behind our house which was designated as our headquarters. There we would hide our weapons and have our meeting.

We would walk around the city of Philly and find strangers around our age. We would ask them if they had seen a guy walking the way we were pointing. When they would look in that direction, we would punch them in the face and we would run off laughing. The victim would be shocked by what had just happened.

Many times, we would test fire the twenty-five automatic in the alley. Everyone took a turn firing the weapon. It made us feel so good making that thing bust off like that. Pop! Pop! Pop! The police hardly came to investigate the sounds of gunshots.

Although I was the youngest between me and my brothers, I was pretty much the lead—the Ni**** in charge (NIC). I don’t understand why, except maybe it was that I was always the one willing to be the first in doing things. I wasn’t scared. I would go to our enemy’s hood alone and talk smack to them. Then I would run back to my hood and get my boys, so we could fight.

Most of the times, we started the fights, but not always. The times we started the trouble was usually when our crew decided to go into the enemy’s territory and throw bottles and rocks at them, then run back to our hood. One night around 11:30, our crew went to meet up at twenty-eighth and Montgomery Avenue in West Philly. There was an old bridge that stretched from one section of the city to the other side of the city, similar to a bridge in DC that stretches from southeast to northwest. As we got near the bridge, we caught sight of a rival crew, and they were real deep in numbers. So we did what we were supposed to do. We yelled out our gang name and ran back to our hood for safety. While we were running back to our hood, I tripped and fell, hurting my shoulder and leaving a scar. I guess it was sort of a memoir for me.

When my father returned to Philly after his job ended, boy, oh boy, my mother did tell him the bad news! I could still remember the expression on his face when my mother told him. He turned to my brother Dana and asked him.

Mother told him all the horrible stories of us fighting different street gangs almost everyday. They were chasing us into the house all the time.

There was a code of respect back then—never put families or loved ones into harm’s way. Our beef was our beef and not our families or innocent bystanders. That was a code the gangs took seriously. We didn’t run into anyone’s house or shoot into houses. That was the rule.

One night, one of the older gang crew members known as Dogg was shot in the back while standing around the corner from our street. We heard the shots and everyone ran outside to see a lot of commotion going on. People were screaming at this guy standing in the street with another guy. It was dark and around 11:30 p.m., so I couldn’t identify him at first, but saw him trying to touch his back where he was shot. I can recall the entire seen in my mind many years later. As he stood there in pain, there was a guy with him trying to keep him calm. There was a lady screaming, Call an ambulance! I later recognized that it was Dogg. I stood next to him watching him cry out in pain. Another gang had shot him. In fact, they caught Dogg slipping

From a distance, I could see a dark blue police car pull up about two blocks away. He must have been close by and had heard the gunshots. The police car had no headlights or its flashing red lights. The white officer was by himself and appeared to be nervous like a rookie. He didn’t seem sure of what to do.

He pulled up speeding and then coming to a sudden halt behind a car that was double-parked. That car wanted to take Dogg to the hospital, but someone in the crowd kept saying to wait for the police to come. By that time, Dogg had pulled off his shirt, which was soaked in blood. Then everyone saw that he had been shot twice in his back. Both shots struck him on the right side of his back blade.

It looked nasty to me, but more importantly, I got a chance to see a gang member shot and the pain and effect that comes with being in the gang. Oh, how I began to think to myself how scary that was and how I did not want to end up like that!

Finally, people started yelling at the officer as he was trying to talk to his dispatcher over his two-way radio calling for an ambulance. The officer and Dogg’s family and friends grew so impatient waiting for the ambulance that the officer put Dogg in the backseat of the police car alone with his sister. They sped off en route to the hospital with the sirens and lights flashing.

As I watched the police car pull off into the darkness, I started to think to myself if this would be the last time I would see Dogg alive again. I began to think about how I would see him on the block many times with that 40-oz old English bottle of beer sipping away as he talked and joked with his homies. I remembered how he used to punch us in our body. Now, Dogg was fighting for his life, and it seemed that I began missing those fun times with Dogg already.

The next day, the bad news was confirmed. Dogg was gone. He died in surgery late last night. The doctors could not stop the bleeding. He went into shock and died.

Chapter 8

Philly Style

In the city of Philadelphia, the style of gangbanging was very different from the gangs or crews in other cities in the United States. For instance, in Washington DC, the crews were mainly just a bunch of people that happened to move in or live on the same block or they were living in the same apartment buildings. They would come outside and meet each other, hang out with one another, and go to parties with each other. They would become each other’s man—homie for life for sure. Then they would build a bond and a trust with each other.

Now that would create a serious issue. Who else would they be able to trust? Who would have their back when sh*t hit the fan? Whether it was at a go-go or a basketball game or in your hood—who would have your back? Who would ride with you?

In DC, you better damn know where you stood on those grounds because out here is not a game! If you get caught slipping or your man freezes up at the wrong time, it could cost you your life because the beat down you would get from your homies is something much more terrible.

Let me put it like this; say for example, you and I go to a club and some guys from another hood are there, also. Then for some reason we make contact with each other. We exchange words with each other… and before you know it, five dudes surround us and they throw the first punch. Then, it’s on!

Then say for example, I get hit first bam! (I got glassed.) But I recover and begin to punch back at my attacker. Then his homies are pounding on top of me. That’s OK. We were outnumbered for now, but we were still going to handle our business. Except one problem… my so-called homies, my Dwags, that lived on my block and hung out with us.

When the drama started, he was ghost. That’s right. Ghost left me hanging out to dry and with a as* kicking many times.

That happens in DC. People talk that tough talk, but when the sh*t hits the fan, you better know who to roll with in the streets! It’s not good to find out at the wrong time; it’s too late.

I can recall a few times when that happened to people I know in DC. One guy had gotten his arm broken when he returned back to his hood because he left his man hanging at a bad time. So for a piece of advice, if you’re not made for this sh*t, as my man Little Gee says, Get the f*ck out!

Now, in Philly back then, the street gangs had a don’t-care attitude. It was like f*ck them, ni****. Let’s hit their block. They didn’t care who you were or what crew you were from. They just wanted a piece of your head, that’s all. Don’t matter if you were with your kids or not.

One night, my dad, my brothers, and I were walking with him on twenty-third & Diamond Street to inquire about a car that my dad had saw. To reach the car shops, we had to cross over an old bridge. It was a very old bridge. It was old and creepy looking, was painted black, and had gang graffiti all over the bridge. Someone used a spray can to mark about ten different gang symbols.

Anyway, we were walking on the bridge trying to get to the other side, and before you knew it, a gang popped up from the opposite direction where we were walking. It immediately signaled trouble and my dad had to act fast. About ten of them were fast approaching us and they were all armed. Some even had zip guns and baseball bats.

As they approached us, they told us to stop right there. The gang surrounded us. We were right in the middle of them. Then the leader began to question my father, Where you from, man? What street are you with?

Yes, those were the words people didn’t like to hear because if you gave the wrong street name, it would be curtains. So glad my dad was hip to all the gang street smarts. He knew he had to use what had kept him safe all these years from the gangs. He knew once again that he had to outsmart them, but unlike the previous times, if he failed to outsmart them, he knew that it would not only be his as* on the line, but also the lives of those he loved dearly—his sons.

There was no room for error. So as they questioned him about what street he was from, my dad stated, I want no trouble fellas. I just returned from Vietnam because my mother is very sick. We were on the way to visit her.

(At that time, thank God there was a war going on because it made them stop and think before they did any thing