Down with It

By Sheldon McCormick

Ex-boxer, former inmate, and ex-hoodlum Lon Caplain was wrongfully convicted of armed robbery by a predominantly white judge and jury and served a term in harsh Booskaloo State Prison. The court later discovered that he did not commit the crime, and he was released. But this injustice, the cruel ghetto and prison life all loaded with racism and oppression, has left Lon an angry, embittered, frustrated, and mean black man. With raging hate in his heart and a reckless mindset, Lon is violent and crime-prone against the black community and geared to return to the brutal thuggery of his youth. This fate is derailed when he becomes “down with it” or “down” (which, in African-American ghetto slang, means “greatly inspired, ready, willing, bold and able with all his heart”) to help some community activists and their youth center. Lon soon becomes their leader and finds life-saving humanity, self-worth, purpose, and redemption amid a police manhunt for a vicious wanted felon who brutalized and raped several girls and a massive destructive earthquake in 1982 south central Los Angeles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796021486

Sheldon McCormick

A Los Angeles, California native, McCormick began his writing career while a student at Foshay Junior High School (now the Foshay Learning Center) in 1971. He was a writer for the Los Angeles Sentinel, the Compton Bulletin and several other publications. He was editor of the now-defunct Los Angeles Balance News newspaper in the late 1980s. McCormick received his Associate of Arts degree in journalism from Los Angeles City College May 22, 1986. He is the author of eleven other novels and has written commentaries for his Facebook page.

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Copyright © 2019 by Sheldon McCormick.

ISBN:      Softcover         978-1-7960-2149-3

                eBook               978-1-7960-2148-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/21/2019

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CONTENTS

About The Novel

In Memorium

Tributes

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

About The Author

ABOUT THE NOVEL

Ex-boxer, former inmate and ex-hoodlum Lon Caplain was wrongfully convicted of armed robbery by a predominantly white judge and jury and served a term in harsh Booskaloo State Prison. The court later discovered that he did not commit the crime and he was released. But this injustice, cruel ghetto and prison life, all loaded with racism and oppression, has left Lon an angry, embittered, frustrated and mean black man. With raging hate in his heart and a reckless mindset, Lon is violent crime-proned against the black community and geared to return to the brutal thuggery of his youth. This fate is derailed when he becomes down with it or down (which means in African-American ghetto slang greatly inspired, ready, willing, bold and able with all his heart) to help some community activists and their youth center. Lon soon becomes their leader and finds life-saving humanity, self-worth, purpose and redemption amidst a police manhunt for a wanted, vicious felon who brutalized and raped several girls and a massive, destructive earthquake in 1982 South-Central Los Angeles.

IN MEMORIUM

Dedicated in loving memory to my dearest parents, Ouida McCormick (1930-1982) and Leon McCormick (1924-1991), my beloved cousin Cynthia Yerger (1955-2019), Denise Harlins, Marcus D. Higgins, Michael Jeffrey Spurlock, Cauncel Yerger, Cynthia E. Griffin, Geraldine Y. Rhodes, Jared Andrews, Jr., Tina Augustine, John Mack, Ronald Rogers, all community and social activists everywhere, every innocent victim of racism, injustice, criminal violence, disasters, family and friends, and all those who fell in the fight against evil and for right, be they known and unknown.

A special and heartfelt tribute to my beloved aunt Christine McCormick Spurlock (1919-2019) on the 100th anniversary of her birthday. I love you, auntie.

TRIBUTES

Dedicated in honor of LaTanya McCormick, Deborah Lacey, my dear cousins Brenda and Raymond McCormick, Kathy Williamson, Patricia Moore, Omar Bradley, Norma Johnson, Dr. Melina Abdullah, Ph.D, Aubrey Turner, Anita Bennett, Pat Harvey, Jared Andrews, Sr., Kathy Garver, Darlene Donloe, every community, social, civil rights, women’s rights, anti-crime and anti-violence activist from coast-to-coast, yesterday and today, known and unknown, Rita Cash, Tony Valdez, family and friends.

Special tributes to Lula Mae Wallace, Christine Gerstenberger, Dr. Rosie Milligan, Lucie Hill, Mollie Bell, Lauren Chapin, Samantha Geimer Diane Frierson, Dominique DiPrima and dear Charlene.

CHAPTER ONE

The bespectacled middle-aged white woman trembled from her Mushroom hairdo-topped head to toe. Her medium blue eyes and loving thin mouth were wide open with terror and her hands up befor the muzzle of a .38-caliber Titan Tiger revolver pointed directly at her face and its owner. The shadowed, large Afro-haired black robber.

Gimme ALL your money, yuh stupid ass bitch!

She filled a paper bag with all of the cash in the cash box till. She then raised her hands back up, afraid and sweating of being killed. He snatched it off the counter, then he and the loot fled. Months later, on the stand in a Los Angeles Superior Courtroom, dressed in a brown skirt suit, white blouse and low-healed Velcro pumps, she bore the same frightened, teary-eyed expression when she saw the Afro-headed defendant.

Ma’am, the prosecutor said to the shaken witness on the stand. Do you see the defendant who robbed you in court today?

She pointed at the defendant. Her voice cracked, Oh, my God! there he is! He’s the one who…oh! The witness fainted. Bailiffs, including one white female, went to the witness’s aid.

The eyes, hot Confederate gray and enraged, of the mountain-square faced, jowled, pocket-throat judge, the prosecutor, stenographer, several courtroom observers, bailiffs and the woman’s attorney glared at the unseen black defendant with fiery outrage, white supremacist hatred and neo-Nazi vengence.

Thirty years confinement in Booskaloo State Prison!, the judge said, then banged his gavel. The ear-piercing sliding and clang of cell doors, yells from throngs of inmates and prison guards and the Southern drawled correctional officer rang out with an evil echo, Strip search, nigger! The sounds, coldness, brutality and hatred of his black skin and a term behind bars filled his bitter memory, vision and soul with injustice as Lon Caplain, 31, shuffled in a prison-inflicted lock-step and black Oxford work shoes, as if he still wore leg irons, through the gritty streets of South-Central Los Angeles.

Seething with hate, anger and bitterness, he facially looked serious and fierce, reminiscent of a hunting, alert predatory fish on the prowl. His well-muscled, rugged 5-foot-9-inch frame and biceps bulged from his pressed short sleeved green shirt and baggy-seated jeans. A former middleweight boxer, Compton-born, South L.A. reared street violence-chiseled Lon sported broad, hunched muscled shoulders, a square, drawn-jawed, medium brown predatory face, double chin, even-set cheekbones and alert, wisened, stunned fish-like eyes which glowed in a grip of madness and outrage. His upper medium-full lip’s center drooped in the manner of a Chinook salmon, the lower lip raised and crested. Jail, prison, the ghetto and boxing hardened his features.

His off-white-toothed snarl resembled a bow tie lopped on its right side. His full Corn Row-braided head and stalking forehead gave Lon a warrior chieftain’s flair, physically intimidating. His arms hung gorilla-style and bent apart at his sides, as if ready to draw six-shooters and moved back and forth as he strolled.

His full eyebrows were shaped like hockey sticks with upward bent grips and low set.

Lon possessed a medium deep, slightly raspy voice, edged with irritated self-assured, eased defiance, as if it came from the dark corner of a dungeon. His medium-sized nose was flared, blunt-tipped, somewhat aquiline and broken-bridged.

His bruised face covered with sweat, his eyes ablazed in homicidal recklessness as he donned his mouthguard, pounded his black boxing gloves together, then squared off with his bald-headed, mean black prison boxing opponent. They exchanged, in Lon’s flashback, a barrage of savage punches. A brutal left hook from the bald pugilist made everything go suddenly black. Lon found himself battling a murderous hazel-eyed, bearded white supremacist inmate during a bloody brawl between black and white convicts armed with prison-made knives and clubs in a cell block in Booskaloo prison, north block.

A blast from a motorist’s horn jarred Lon from that flashback. He asserted his meaness, boldness and surprise. Damn, man!, a middle-aged cigarette-smoking black man yelled in anger from his car. Watch where you goin’, motherfucker! Get your head out your doped up black ass! Goddamn fool, shit!

What do you mean you lost your janitor job last week?, Patricia, 34, asked