GREED: The Path Away from Eternal Life

By David Ivy

Three childhood friends found themselves entwined in the vicissitudes of life on the mean streets of the South Bronx, where the invisible hands of greed lacked empathy. In a desperate attempt to escape poverty, Malcolm, Eric, and Yadiel actuated by a feeling of hopelessness, embraced a path in the streets that lead them into a life of gangs, arson, murder, and drugs. By 1977, on the gritty streets of the South Bronx, buildings were going up in smoke all over the city at a time when arson was the answer to everything. As Greed told the story of life and death, heroin filled the veins of those who tried to escape the horrors of the world through a delusive feeling of euphoria. By the early eighties, crack, a very potent form of cocaine, surfaced on the streets of New York, and with it came a profitable curse that conveyed death and destruction everywhere it went.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662438752

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GREED

The Path Away from Eternal Life

David Ivy

Copyright © 2021 David and Justice Ivy

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-3874-5 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-3875-2 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Malcolm a.k.a. Country

Chapter 2

Eric a.k.a. Bee

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

About the Author

To my beautiful daughter Justice. You are truly a gift to the world.

To my father, David, who has inspired me to push my mind beyond any limits.

Every dream is a figment of your imagination, and through your imagination comes the knowledge to make those dreams come true.

This book is dedicated to:

Eddie Dewayne Partee

Li'l Toe

Rest in peace

Chapter 1

Malcolm a.k.a. Country

It was strange how we came from different states and different backgrounds in the South and ended up in the same classroom at John Patterson Elementary School in the South Bronx. My family and I came from Tupelo, Mississippi, and Eric Brill, and his family was from Mason, Tennessee. I guess it was fate and that country-ass accent that brought us together. In the end, it would be greed that destroys us.

In the 1960's, due to the notions of White supremacy, people of color in the Deep South were treated as second-class citizens and were driven from their homes by unsatisfactory economic opportunities and harsh segregationist laws. Many African American families fled the Southern states and headed North, where they took advantage of the needs for industrial workers that first arose during the Great Migration.

A factory job wages in the urban North paid typically three times more than what Blacks could expect to make working in the South as sharecroppers.

In March 1972, the Patterson Housing Projects became our new home. Eric Brill and I were the new kids on the block, and sometimes, moving to a new city is a hard new beginning for a kid, especially when it comes to meeting new friends. The Native youth of the Bronx often taunted us because of our Southern rhythm. The Patterson Houses Projects in the Mott haven neighborhood of the Bronx was one of the largest New York City Housing Authority Complexes in the City, with fifteen buildings, encasing 1,790 apartments. This scenery was a lot different than the scenery of the states we came from. We were now witnessing over ten city blocks of housing packed in one project.

Eric Brill and I became best friends in school after learning that we were both from the South, and our families moved to the Bronx only thirty days apart. Eric and I began meeting up on the playground in the Patterson Housing Projects every day after school. As the summer approached, more kids began hanging out throughout the projects. The sound of laughter filled the playground as the basketball being dribble echoed down the court.

Look at these two country boys! one of the kids as they approached us yelled out as the spectators laughed.

I glanced up, and standing right in front of me was Oleck Briars, a member of the Guardians. The Guardians was a youth gang started by Chester Green on August 23, 1970. In the Patterson Projects.

Eric stood up and stared at Oleck, who stood right in front of us with five members of the Guardians standing behind him. Without showing any fear, Eric yelled, Fuck you!

Oleck glanced over his shoulder back at his comrades with a smirk on his face and uttered, This punk said fuck me!

After hearing Oleck repeat that, I knew it was about to go down, and within a blink of an eye, wham! Oleck threw a solid right hook that connected with the side of Eric's face. Eric quickly returned a swift right and left hook that connected with Oleck's face.

Ugggh! a soft mutter escaped Oleck's lips as they stood toe to toe, trading blows.

Eric's style of fighting reflected the skills of a heavyweight fighter. After trading a few blows back and forth, Oleck knew from the speed and power of Eric's blows, he was outskilled. Wham! Wham! Eric threw a dazing right and left hook that connected with the side of Oleck's face. But Oleck didn't ask for help. He couldn't because any murmur out of his mouth for help would've only made him look weak in the presence of his comrades. So he just danced around, keeping a safe distance that placed him out of reach from Eric's hands.

The rest of the Guardians and I stood on the sideline, watching. Then one of the guys with Oleck named Smooth noticed Oleck was in distress. We all knew by his staggering dance that Oleck was trying to keep a safe distance from Eric's hands. Then Smooth whispered something into the ear of the guy standing next to him.

As we watched the fight, they stared at the way Eric held his hands and moved. His fighting skills were very impressive to watch. But Smooth felt it was time to bring that fight to an end.

Smooth, without warning, threw a sucker punch—wham!—that connected with the back of Eric's head.

After witnessing that, I immediately stepped in from the blind side of the sideline and threw a right hook—wham!—that connected with the side of Smooth's face. As soon as my hand touched his face, for about five seconds, it seemed like everything came to a complete stop. Even the sound of the wind, and within a breath, all eyes were on me.

Smooth, dazed by the sucker punch, stumbled to the side, and within a blink of an eye, they rushed us. I swung and kicked, but in the midst of being assaulted from every angle, I was forced to cover my head to protect my face.

Eric fought hard, engaging the battle blow for blow, and in the heat of the battle, I heard someone shout, "Guy Fisher! and the whole playground came to a complete stop. Then Oleck shouted as he glanced over his shoulder. Guardians, let's go!" As they slowly withdrew from the assault, they started walking toward Guy Fisher's car with the crowd.

That was the first time I heard the name Guy Fisher, and from the scenery, I just knew it wouldn't be the last. Eric and I stood up and glanced over at the crowd that was gathering around Guy Fisher's brand-new Mercedes-Benz.

Then Eric put his arm around my neck and uttered, Come on, Malcolm. After taking a deep breath, we started walking with our heads down toward the apartments.

We sat in the hallway of the Patterson's all day talking about Oleck and how we wanted to pay back the Guardians.

Eric, with a smirk on his face, glanced over at me and uttered, Thanks for helping me, Malcolm. If you didn't step up, they would've stomped me out.

I reached out my hand, and as Eric shook it, I responded, I got your back. I just hope the next time you choose, to get our ass kicked, it's not by a gang.

As we laughed out loud, we felt soreness all through our bodies.

Then Eric leaned over and softly uttered, We're brothers now. If anybody messes with you, they got to mess with me.

That day, we pledge to face this monstrous world side by side as brothers.

I will never let my brother be homeless or let my brother go hungry.

We vowed to that. I was now learning the lessons in life, and each lesson came with a price. Eric and I were born in the same year, only three months apart. We were both eleven years old and were now living in the Bronx.

Later that night, I laid in bed, thinking about how the Guardians and everybody on the playground came to a complete stop when they heard the named Guy Fisher. I can't lie. I was eager to know more about him because the people in Patterson treated him like he was a god.

After the incident with the Guardians, it wasn't long before Chester Green came looking for the two country boys who stood up to the Guardians.

First, he apologized, then he stated that Oleck was wrong for attacking us, and he assured us that it would never happen again. He claimed that he created the Guardians in 1970 as an honor to the legacy of the Black Spaces, a 1968 click of Black men who patrolled the Patterson's with a mission to keep the people in the community safe. Chester Green had the spirit of a revolutionary and the glow of a born leader. He was only fifteen years old when he started the Guardians, and he spoke with a passion that would have touched the heart of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King.

Chester was on a mission to unite the community and was willing to keep the peace by any means necessary. He was a born leader gifted with the gift of persuasive oratory, before he walked away, he had convinced us to join the Guardians.

Oleck, Smooth, and the other four Guardians that attacked us later apologized, and within a few months, we earn our respect among the native youth, and with that came new nicknames. Chester Green gave Eric Brill the nickname Bee because of his impressive fighting skills. He was the youth version of Ali's float like a butterfly and sting like a bee. Due to my deeply rooted Mississippi accent, they all started calling me Country.

This is where it all began, in the Bronx, and as the years quickly passed, the South Bronx became a national symbol for urban decay, a picture poster of despair.

The project's buildings became standing skeleton with unemployment at a high rate. Drug addiction, crime, and poverty slithered from borough to borough, leaving behind an image of indigence that was identical to the destitute image of a third-world country, and police brutality on Blacks and Puerto Ricans was at an all-time high.

By 1976, the country was on its edge as the civil rights trial began against the state and federal law enforcement that assassinated Fred Hampton and Mark Clark in Chicago, Illinois. Chester Green, young and aspiring, became a full-fledged activist in the South Bronx. Power to the people! was the greeting at a time when the federal government's sworn mission was to prevent any rise of a messiah who could unify and electrify, a movement among the Black people, especially the youth. Chester Green's ability to unite the youth made him a marked man during a time when public assassinations were a prosperous government strategy in the disruption of the growth and development of Black people.

At 1:45 a.m., in the midst of a silent winter night in 1976, three racist White New York police officers pulled into the parking lot of the Mitchel Housing Projects behind Chester Green's 1964 Ford Galaxie with their flashlights out and guns clenched in the grips of their hands. Quickly, they scanned the parking lot for witnesses before parking in the shadows with the headlights out.

As they sat quietly, watching Chester pull into a parking space, one of the officers softly uttered, Let's get this Black son of a bitch!

The sound of the Commodores' song Zoom echoed from the speakers throughout Chester's car as he rocked his head side to side, softly singing along with the chorus, Oh, oh, Zoom! I'd like to fly far away from here. / Where my mind, oh Lord, is fresh and clear. / And I'd find the love that I long to see, / Where everybody can be what they wanna be. After turning off the ignition, he reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed a bag of baby Pampers that he had just purchased at the store for his child.

After taking a deep breath, all three officers quickly exited the unmarked car and rushed over to Chester's car. Suddenly, one of the officers yelled, He's got a gun!

Startled by the sight of someone appearing on the side of his car out of nowhere shouting.

Chester glanced over his left shoulder out of the driver's side window into the faces of three armed assassins, and for a few seconds it felt like the world stood still on its axis as he gazed into a flash of lights. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! He saw two flashes and heard four shots then everything went black.

Three racist White cops under the authorization of the COINTELPRO Program fired eighteen shots through the driver's side door and window, killing him instantly. After the bullets were counted and the blood dried, people began to peer out of the windows of the Mitchel Housing Projects down at the bands of yellow police crime scene tape blowing in the breeze.

Keneesha Henderson, after noticing the scenery of yellow crime scene tape around what appeared to be Chester's car. She ran out of her apartment with no shoes on with their child in her arms. Tears filled her eyes as she ran full speed with a face filled with grief. Noooo! Nooo! In a soft murmur, those words escaped her lips.

As she got closer, she saw Chester slumped over toward the passenger seat inside the car with a white sheet covering his body, and the driver's door was riddled with bullet holes. Without warning, her legs gave out, and she fell to the ground with the baby in her arms, screaming.

Ooooh my god! Nooo! Nooo! Noo! Why did y'all kill him! Her voice echoed off the walls of the projects.

One of the detectives walked over and uttered, Ma'am, this is a crime scene, and you cannot be on this side of the crime scene tape.

Keneesha had walked under the tape and right into the crime scene unwittingly and fell to her knees. The detective waved one of his hands, signaling for one of the female officers to come over and assist him with the female.

The officers later claimed the surveillance of Chester Green was authorized by the FBI, and the reason there was a confrontation with Mr. Green on the above night. All of the officers reported, "The suspect was seen running out of Staples' Grocery store in the Riverdale area of the Bronx with a large bag in his hands. Minutes later we received a call that the store had just been robbed by a Black male, and Chester Green's car matched the description of the suspect's car.

Later, the surveillance camera from the store mysteriously came up missing, and there was never a gun found in Chester's car nor a witness or victim from the store that claimed Chester Green robbed them. The death of Chester Green was felt throughout all five boroughs as the sounds of Sam Cooke's song, A Change Is Gonna Come echoed throughout the city. Chester Green was truly another victim of the FBI's secret war against the citizens that was considered to be a threat to the established order.

In this same war, Martin Luther King Jr. was considered to be a troublemaker and was marked as being one of the most dangerous Negros in the future of this nation, and he was assassinated in 1968.

Clarence Kelley, J. Edgar Hoover's successor, told Congress in 1971 following the public exposure of the COINTELPRO Program, Situation has occurred in the past and will arise in the future where the government may well be expected to depart from its traditional role and take affirmative steps that are needed to meet an imminent threat.

As the crisis deepened in the South Bronx, the nearly bankrupt city government levied most of the blame on unreasonably high rent by landlords.

The government began demanding that they covert their rapidly empty buildings into section 8 housing, which paid a percentage for low-income or indigent tenants from federal (HUD) funds.

However, the HUD rates were not based on the property's actual value. The rates were set so low by the city. It left little opportunity or incentive for honest landlords to maintain or improve their buildings while still making a profit. The result was disastrous.

White landlords began paying drug addicts and gang members to burn down their buildings to collect on their insurance policies. This became known as the great bailout.

Bee was cool with this Dominican kid named Yadiel, who was a member of a street gang known as the Dominican Lions.

Yadiel lived down on East 149 Street, and he plugged us in with some White landlords from the Riverdale area that owned a few abandon buildings in the South Bronx.

During the introduction, the first words that came out of the landlord's mouth were If you get caught, this conversation never happened. But if you succeed, you can earn up to $75 a building.

Damn! I thought to myself as Bee glanced up at me with a smirk on his face, and in my mind, I was thinking the same damn thing, Let's get this money!

Yadiel became a scout for the White landlords, and in the South Bronx, he earned the nickname Bolsa de Dinero. In Dominican Spanish, that meant money bag. Yadiel was given that name by the street kids in the Bronx because the White landlords only deal with him hand to hand. It was hard for Bee and me with that country-ass accent to pronounce Bolsa de Dinero, so we just called him Money.

By 1977, buildings were smoking all over the city, and arson became the answer to everything. It was the answer to rent increases by landlords, tax cuts, and swinging votes for politicians.

As Marvin Gaye's song Inner City Blues [Make Me Wanna Holler] echoed throughout the sound waves of the city.

Make me want to holler

And throw up both my hands

Yeah, it makes me want to holler

And throw up both my hands.

Extremely high unemployment rates produced a strong attraction for criminal elements. Street gangs were beginning to support and eradicate themselves with the sales and usage of brown crystal. Brown crystal was the street name for heroin, and with the drug trade devastating the city, many members were beginning to lose sight of the Dec. 8, 1971 truce meeting on Hoe Avenue among the South Bronx and many New York City gangs. Under a cloud of smoke, the city was becoming a pile of ashes. A place of broken promises, decay, and destruction, and in the midst of it all, our minds were captivated by the currency chase, and that kept us thinking about the prices they pay and not the chances we take.

We began blazing vacant buildings with gallons of gasoline with strict instructions to start the fires in the apartment on the top floors. As time moved on, the landlords collected on their insurance policies then gathered their family and moved away, leaving behind a city buried in debris.

I once heard my father say, even after seeing the city crumble, that he rather have us living here in the Bronx than to have us living down South in a place where they once had laws called the Black Code. The Black Codes were restrictive laws designed to limit the freedom of African Americans in the South and to ensure their availability as a cheap labor force. If we have to continue our struggle here, my father's pride spoke, our struggle will be met on our feet and not on our knees. One of the hardest lessons in life was learning which bridge to cross and which bridge to burn.

As the struggle for Black liberation continued, righteous Black leaders were targeted and assassinated by the United States government. The spirit of hope and liberation was quickly fading, along with the epic stories of our true leaders whose names are not spoken. The COINTELPRO Program subterfuge action had disrupted the Puerto Rican independence movement along with many African American movements.

The appointment of Black leaders by government officials created a climate of distrust and dissension among the Black community. First, we lost trust, then we lost respect, and as soon as we lost love, we stop greeting one another as brothers and sisters and started calling one another niggas and bitches!

It was now all about that currency chase, the dance with the ruler of all evil! The drug trade was in motion, but we didn't know much about it. Bee and I sat on the hill watching the graffiti-filled walls of the trains as they rolled by. Later that evening, on our way back to the Patterson's, we saw a heroin addict named Polo standing near an abandoned building playing an invisible violin. It was funny to watch, but it was also sad. But little did we know, we were witnessing the world in one of its purest forms.

Later on that day, Bee and I ran into Money on East 147th and Monroe Street at the corner store. He approached us with a smile on his face and uttered, What's happening, bro!

Bee and I responded, Paper chasings!

Then we all started laughing as we all shook hands. Money took a step back with a smirk on his face and glanced up at the ceiling. Then he gazed at us with a serious look in his eyes and uttered, Check this out. I got this White landlord ready to pay $150 to get two buildings set on fire down on Charlotte Street tonight. That's $75 a building.

Bee quickly responded, Don't be fucking playing, Money.

Without blinking an eye, Money quickly said, I'm not fuckin' playing, Bee! Together, we can torch those edificios [buildings] tonight!

Bee glanced at me with a serious look on his face because everybody knew Charlotte Street had the highest arsonist rates in the city. Charlotte Street was a three-block devastated area of vacant lots and abandoned buildings that were now under the watchful eyes of the Bronx Police Department.

It was precarious, but when you're broke, chasing that currency will make you take crazy chances. Bee glanced at Money and uttered, Okay, bro! We're in. Let's get this money!

We all shook hands, then Bee and I got on our bikes and rode off into the night under the streetlights, heading to the Patterson to change clothes. Money went to notify the White landlord that we were ready to light him up tonight.

After changing clothes, Bee and I met back up on the playground in the Patterson near the basketball court. We sat on our bikes in the shadows, softly conversing as we stared across the field, waiting on Money to appear.

Bee laughed as I told him about how I earlier choked on my words in front of Adaeze. She was the girl from Africa that lived on the fourth floor in the Patterson. Bee glanced down at the ground with a smile on his face and uttered, That's one fine muthafucka!

We laughed as we stared off into the night, visualizing the shape of her ass.

Then suddenly, Bee uttered, There go, Money!

I could see him riding through the apartments under the lights on the side of the buildings looking for us. Then Bee whistled, "Fweet! Fweet!"

Money quickly glanced in our direction, and as he came over on his bike, Bee asked, What's the business!

Money responded with a smirk on his face, The landlord left two five-gallon cans of gasoline in the debris on the side of 2341 Charlotte Street. That's the tall building. And 2343 is the small building beside it. Let's blaze them edificos and get that money!

Bee uttered, Damn! We have to be careful with that much gasoline, one wrong spark and things can get ugly.

Due to the fact we never blazed a building with Money, as we rode off into the night, Bee uttered, "Once we dash the walls and floors with the gas, don't make a fuckin' spark until we are all halfway out of the building.

Money and I agreed with Bee, and without saying another word, we pedaled our bikes at high speed off into the night.

Once we arrived on Charlotte Street, we could see the two buildings that we were about to set ablaze from a block away. As Bee led the way, we coasted in and out of the shadows of the abandoned buildings as we rode down Charlotte Street. Then Bee turned into a dark vacant lot that was filled with debris from crumbling buildings.

Once we all came to a complete stop, Bee glanced around into the darkness and uttered, Let's hide our bikes here in the darkness among the debris.

After hiding our bikes in the debris, we started walking behind the buildings under the cloak of the night toward the buildings we were about to set ablaze.

As we silently moved within the shadows from building to building, we saw a police squad car slowly passing by the front of the buildings.

Then Money whispered, I think this is one of the buildings right here! We need to go around the front so I can check the address.

We all gazed toward the street out front as we silently moved in the shadows toward the front of the building. Then we peeked out from the shadows looking in both directions.

After taking a deep breath, Money ran out of the shadows and glanced up at the address on the front of the building. Then he ran over to the building next door and gazed at the address.

As Bee and I stood in the shadows watching, Money came back into the shadows and uttered, This is the building right here, and the one next door is the other one.

All of a sudden, Bee pushed Money and me against the side of the building and from the shadows of the night we watched the squad car slowly passed us. Bee peeked out of the shadows at the police car as it slowly rode down the street.

Then he softly uttered, Damn! With the police beating the block, we got to move quick. We gotta set both buildings on fire at the same time. Country, you take the small building next door.

Then Bee glanced up the side of the tall building that we were all standing beside and uttered, Money, you and I gonna blaze this big muthafucka!

Then Money quickly searched through the debris on the side of the building and uttered, Here's the gas!

I grabbed a can, and Bee grabbed a can.

Then I uttered, Bee! Fifteen minutes, and we're out!

Bee glanced at me and nodded. That was our code, and we both knew that meant we had fifteen minutes to set up and light up.

Bee and I set our watches to beep in fifteen minutes. We all shook hands. Money grabbed two bottles from the debris. Then we peeked out from the shadows. After seeing the coast was clear, I darted out of the shadows and ran into the building next door, and Bee and Money ran into the big building.

Once inside the building, my heart accelerated as I glanced around in the darkroom with the only light in the building coming from the moon through a crack in a board that covered the windows. Quickly, I took the top off the gas can and swiftly made my way through the building and upstairs toward the top floor, which was the fourth floor.

Once I made it to the top floor, I began splashing gas against the walls in the hall. Then I went inside each