Chapter One - Growing up Ghetto
There are times when I look back on my childhood and I am simply amazed that I lived through it all.

I grew up on 73rd and Hoover in Los Angeles. Fifty yards from my house, on the other side of an alley, was an abandoned house called the "Crip Shack." The Crip Shack was the birthplace and "offices," of the notorious Hoover Crips, the nastiest part of the Crip Street gang Alliance made famous in Hollywood films like "Colors."

I went to Jr. High at Mary McLeod Bethune. A couple of my classmates were the founders of the Crips and other less notorious, but equally brutal gangs. In my last year of Jr. High, the school was evacuated on rumors of an impending shootout, and latter that day, the LAPD found enough weapons in a nearby house to arm a platoon of Army Rangers.

In the ninth grade, I was gang jumped by 20 members of the Ace Duces (A Crip Faction), and one of the lesser street gangs who populated the school. I accidentally stepped on the shoe of one of their leaders while in the cafeteria line. I was standing in line waiting for my Government Issue hot lunch, when I stepped backwards and onto the shiny new biscuits (A type of shoe popular at the time) of "Pee Wee," one of the gang leaders. Pee Wee was a short little fuck with a huge afro. Pee Wee dressed the part of the gangster at the time. Silk shirt, pleated pants, leather jacket and biscuits… It was a uniform of sorts for the bangers. And even though all of us did our best to match the style, you could always tell who the real bangers were.

I knew immediately that I had fucked up, and so did every one else in the lunch line. Everyone turned around to see what was going to happen. Even though I knew at that moment that I was fucked, I could not risk coming off like a wimp. "Hey man, I am sorry about that," I mumbled. He looked at me with contempt and hatred, and replied. "Motherfucker you best to be cleaning my biscuits." Now I could have probably saved my self the requisite ass kicking at that point by kneeling down and cleaning the footprint off his shoes, but that was against ghetto code. I knew that if I cleaned his shoe, I might survive the ass kicking that day, but would forever be marked, "a bitch." The ass kicking would simply be delayed. I also knew I would not be able to live with the snickers I would get from that day on, so I signed my own ass kicking warrant at that moment and responded. "Fuck your biscuits." I dropped my tray and walked away. I missed lunch, but my major concern at that point was finding a place to hide until lunch was over.

My confrontation with Pee Wee was the talk of the school for the rest of the day. I hid out at the next break, and watched the clock with a knot in my stomach the rest of the day. I knew that at 3:00 I had an appointment with Pee Wee and his boys. When the bell rang, I hauled ass for the street with my boy Otis, who was my best friend at the time. We were halfway up the block when I saw Pee Wee. He was standing on the corner, half a block away with a small army of guys, most of whom I did not even recognize. I turned to Otis... "Bruh, this ain’t your fight," I heard myself say. "Bail and see if you can find my big brother. I am gonna get my ass kicked, ain’t no need for you to get yours kicked too." Otis looked relieved as he took off running. If I was expecting the Calvary to come to my rescue, it didn't happen. My house was over a mile away, even if Otis had went looking for my Brother... Which he didn't. I ducked into an alley 20 yards from Pee Wee and his gang, hoping they did not see me in the crowd of kids leaving the school. As I turned into the alley I began to trot. Not exactly run, just kind of jog. Just as I was beginning to think I had escaped, there was a tap on my shoulder….

"Yo homeboy," I heard a voice say. "Someone is calling you." I then felt the blow. Then they converged. I don't to this day know how many there were. All I know is I was swinging wildly, not connecting very often, and they were... Big time. I remember going down in the alley, and biscuits, lots of biscuits kicking me everywhere. I rolled into a fetal ball trying to protect myself, and then I heard the siren.

I must have blacked out. The next thing I remember was being in the Vice Principals office with a couple of cops, Pee Wee and the VP.

I remember my face hurt, and so did other parts of my body. In fact, it would be easier to say what did not hurt.

I was a little nervous about coming back to school the next day, especially since I was black and blue all over, with my eye practically swollen shut. I figured best case scenario is that I would get clowned by everyone who saw me get my ass kicked in that alley. I latter found out that the audience to my ass kicking included my dear buddy Otis. To my surprise, I found out I was somewhat of a hero at school after that day. The consensus seemed to be that I had stood up to the gangsters. Even though I lost the fight, I had won respect. "Damn homeboy, you got yo assed whupped, but you went down swingin'," was a a typical comment. Even the gangsters seemed to give me a little more respect after that day...

It was not easy growing up where I did. The gang culture was all around me. 73rd and Hoover was in the middle of a battle zone. Crips, Brims (Latter immortalized as Bloods in the movies), Ace Duce's and Bounty Hunters, battled amongst themselves and with the Police of the notorious 77th Division, for the streets of my neighborhood. And the cops were little more than a street gang themselves, terrorizing the neighborhood and brutalizing anyone they saw as a potential threat. 77th Division would latter become the subject of a number of criminal investigations, including planting weapons on shooting victims and falsifying arrest records. I would have my own run in with them while I lived there. More on that later.

Most of the guys who founded the Crips came from my neighborhood.

One of the original founders was a guy named Leo. Leo was a small stature, light skinned, good looking black kid, who had a lot of natural intelligence and leadership. Unfortunately, he chose to apply it to all the wrong things.

Leo was a God Father in the Crips, one of the main leaders, and for some reason he liked me. He used to send me on errands to buy him and his boys junk food. My little crew and I would be playing softball or football on the abandoned lot next to the Crip shacks and Leo would call me over. I don't think he ever knew my name. It was always, "Hey fatboy, com'ere." I would hustle over and Leo would roll off a wad of bills and send me off to the liquor store to buy him something. He would always give me a dollar for myself. And even though he joked about me being a fat kid in front of his boys, he always treated me kindly.

Leo became a major drug dealer, and in the end broke the cardinal rule of dealing. He started using his own product. I started to notice that his eyes had a glazed, faraway look, and he started to scare me. One night I was on my way home and passed the Crip Shacks to cut through the alley and head home. From the darkness of the shack I heard Leo’s voice. "Hey Fatboy, come’ere." I hesitated, but knew I had better do what he said. Leo was not the kind of guy you never wanted to piss off. I climbed up into the ruined house and looked around in the darkness. Leo was sitting in a corner smoking a joint. "Come over here kid," he said. I walked over to where he was sitting. He held the joint up to me. "You want a hit?" I shook my head no.. He laughed. "Go ahead, take a hit. It aint nothin' but weed, lil nigga. It aint gonna kill ya." I nervously took the joint, and took a feeble hit on it, not even inhaling. He laughed. "Nigga that aint no way to smoke a joint. Suck that mutha fucka!" I tried again, inhaling deeply this time. The weed burned my throat and made me feel dizzy. Leo stumbled to his feet. "That’s it homey. Suck on that thang." I handed the joint back to him. He took a deep drag, and I could see that weird look in his eyes, even in the darkness. The moon shined in through the holes in the roof and walls, giving his face and eyes a weird glow.

He looked at me for a long time, taking drags on his weed. "I want you to do something for me lil’ nigga," he said. I don't want you to tell nobody though. "What," I asked. He reached down and unzipped his pants. "I want you to suck my dick." I stepped back towards the hole in the wall I had come in through. "I cant do that Leo," I stuttered. "I aint no fag!" He laughed. "I know you aint no fag, fatboy. But aint nobody going to know. Just me an you... Think of all the shit I done done for you!" I was feeling panic rising in my gut. Leo had killed people. Lots of them, if the stories were to be believed. Now he was telling me to suck his dick. If I did it, I was fucked. It would be all over the block by the next day. If I didn't do it, he might just kill me. I was getting sick at the thought...

"Leo," I pleaded. "You aint no fag. You are Leo, the baddest mutha fucker in the Crips. What it gonna look like, people hear you got boys suckin' your dick." He seemed to think about this for a minute, and then as quickly as it started, it was over. He put his dick back in his pants, zipped up and laughed his ass off. "I knew you weren’t no fag, lil' nigga. I just had to be sure. He reached in his pocked and peeled a twenty dollar bill off his bankroll. He handed it to me, and told me to get, "the fuck out my house." I practically ran out of that house that night. I made it a point to avoid the place for a few months after that. Then about three months latter I heard Leo had been shot dead in a driveby. I don't know if Leo intended to rape me that night or not, I would like to think it was just a test like he said... But I will never know. I was 10 Years old at the time...

There was another Crip Founder who grew up with me too. His name was Phillip. Phillip was a super cool, laid back thinker... I never saw Phillip in a fight. While Leo was known to be a hard case and a cold blooded murderer who handled his "set," through strength and intimidation, Phillip was known as a smart leader. He rarely lost his cool, and led by the strength of his intellect, and pure charisma. Phillip and I met when my 7th grade English Teacher asked me to tutor him. We formed a friendship that would last until he was sent to jail a year latter.

Phillip was always well dressed, sharp and smooth. They used to call him a Junior Pimp, and the girls adored him. At 14, Phillip was probably getting laid more than Hugh Heffner, and he was just as cool. Phillip always called me David. He respected me, and he protected me. He was kind of like a Black version of the Fonz, and everyone knew that if you hung out with Phillip, you weren't to be fucked with. I never saw him using drugs, or even drinking. When he was around his "set," or his boys, there was no question who was in charge. Although it may sound strange considering how much I liked Phillip, I am glad he went to jail when he did. If he had not, I would have probably ended up a Crip...

I was the tenth of ten children. Most of my siblings had already grown up and left the nest when I came along.

I was the miracle baby, born when my mother was 42 years old and my father in his late 50's. I was not expected and not planned for. But I was loved... Perhaps even more than my siblings, I was loved. I was my mother's baby. Though we were poor by most people's standards, my mother did everything she could to give me the best she could offer. Other than the occasional hand me down clothes, I pretty much got what I wanted as a kid. I was spoiled. I was the baby. In return I was expected to bring home good grades, go to church on Sunday, and be a, "good boy." I fulfilled most of that obligation for my first 15 years, even joining the Boy Scouts, something that took a lot of courage in one of the most violent neighborhoods in Los Angeles. (Just walking down the street in a Scout Uniform could get you an ass kicking by the Gangsters). At the time I was trying hard to be like my war hero Brother, who I worshiped more than the God I visited on Sundays. It was my Big Brother Thomas, the Vietnam War veteran, who saved my ass the one time I did cross paths with the Thugs in Blue from 77th Street Division, LAPD.

I was selling candy for my mother's church when I was stopped by one of the police Anti-Gang units. They were called, "Team 2," and they were notorious in the ghetto at that time. I heading home after a day of selling candy door to door for my mother's church when a Team Two car pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of us. The driver called me over to the car. "Hey Fat Boy, get your black ass over here," the cop said. I was with three other friends and we all walked over to the patrol car. "What you got in the bag Nigger?" the cop asked. "I ain't no nigger, cop." I said in my most defiant "ghetto," voice. The driver opened the door of the patrol car and he and his partner stepped out. "We got us a smartass here," he said to his partner, who just shook his head. "I asked you a question boy," he said, taking his shades off as he stepped up within a foot or so of where I was standing.

My parents always admonished me to be respectful of cops and I generally was, but here this guy was harassing me when I was actually doing something good for a change. I was not going to have it. It did not help that all of us in the neighborhood had recently come under the influence of Brother Charles X, a Muslim shopkeeper who sold cookies, candy and the radical black muslim theology of "the evils of whitey." I was in no mood to be interrogated by this, "white devil," and I figured I was in the right, so "fuck 'em." I looked the cop in the eye and answered him. "I know my rights Mr. Police officer man... I ain't done nothin' wrong. I am selling candy for my mama's church, so why don't you pigs leave me alone."

The next thing I knew I was slammed against the Police Cruiser, and being frisked. The cop took the bag with the candy, and the money I had collected that day. “Listen you little fat bastard, I know you stole the candy, so we are going to confiscate it.” He took the bag from my hand, and told me to move on. I stood there, not believing that a cop had just, “stole,” a bag of candy from a kid on the street. My friends were standing back on the curb. Bunch, one of my best buddies at the time, started ragging on me. “Yo mama gonna whup yo ass David,” he said. I knew at that point that I had two options. I was either going to take an ass kicking from these two cops or from my Mama... And to be honest, I was a helluva lot more afraid of my Mama at that moment. You did not mess with my mama when it came to the church. I stepped between the cop and his car. "Look man," I said. "You are just going to have to arrest me. I know I ain't done nothing wrong. And I ain't going home without that candy and the money those people done paid me." The cop laughed. "Have it your way boy." He grabbed me by the shoulder, spun me around against the car, and slapped the cuffs on me... I was shoved roughly into the back of the police car, and whisked away, as my friends stood laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

I sat on a low bench in the police station for over an hour before my mother and her Pastor showed up at the police station. I could hear them talking to the Desk Sergeant outside the holding area. The cop was telling them how I resisted arrest and how they were going to hold me for questioning in a gang matter. No matter how much my mother pleaded and the good Reverend admonished, the Sergeant just "dissed" them. Finally I heard them leave. The Sergeant came back to see me at that point. I was cuffed to a low bench in a smelly, hot room. I guess he could tell I was afraid. "Did you really think your mama and, "Reverend Ike," were gonna get your ass out of the trouble you are in boy?" He asked me, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Now if you had just kept your mouth shut and not argued with the officers, you would be home having dinner right now." He laughed and walked out of the room. Seems like hours passed, but I am sure it wasn't that long. Suddenly, I heard my older Brother Thomas speaking to the Desk Sargeant. "You got a kid here named David Anderson?" he asked. "Who's asking," replied the desk Sergeant. "The man who came to get him out," replied my brother. "And what the fuck makes you think you are going to have any more luck than his mama, or the "Reverend Doctor Feel Good." Replied the cop.

I will never forget my Brother's reply. "Because my Mother and the Reverend did not just spend three years working for the U.S. Government killing people for a living. And because if you mother fuckers don't let my little brother go in the next five minutes, you are going to have to explain why you arrest a kid for selling candy for the church, and why you killed a decorated Vietnam Vet who just came here to get his baby brother out of jail. Cause if I leave here without David, when I come back, I am going to declare war on you mother fuckers." I heard the cop say something I could not make out, and the next thing I know, my Brother and I are in his car driving home. The bag of candy and cash were sitting on the seat between us. Fucking cops had even paid for the couple of boxes of candy they had taken from the bag. My brother never said a word on the drive home. We pulled into the driveway, he patted me on the head, leaned over me and opened the door. I wanted to say, "thank you." I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. I wanted to tell him that he was my hero. I didn't say anything. I wish I had...

That was the last run in I ever had with the cops, except for the couple times I was pulled over for moving violations... Yeah, life in the Ghetto in the 70's was a hoot... Good Times and JJ Walker didn't have shit on the Anderson family. But things would only get more interesting...