06 July 06

Interview With A Blood

According to Phoenix Police Department, acts of violence enabled Bones to rise to the rank of leader in the South Side Posse Bloods. His police reports include crimes such as kidnapping, interfering with judicial proceedings, misconduct involving weapons, and possession of a prohibited weapon. One report states he was, “firing shots at another vehicle.” Let’s find out more about Bones.

“What’s a Blood?”
“The opposite of a Crip. Red versus blue. It started in L.A..”
“What division are you in?”
“The South Side Posse Bloods – a Chicano gang.”
“Did you get jumped in?”
“Yeah. Me and my friends were at a Posse party and gang members asked us if we wanted to get jumped in. There were six of us. My partners were big dudes – six footers, weighin’ two-hundred-and-sixty pounds each or so. There were fifteen of them. They gave a girl a stopwatch, and told us we were gonna have a free-for-all for seven to ten minutes. That’s a long time when you’re fightin’. People were getting’ body-slammed, tossed over a bonfire, hit over the head with bottles. After that everybody was cool, and lickin’ their wounds. We were officially part of the gang.”
“How did you rise up?”
“I became real popular. I was known for not takin’ any shit. And I was quick to shoot if someone came around. That earned me respect in the neighbourhood.”
“Which neighbourhood?”
“In Phoenix, it started out in '85, '86 in a small section of the south side of Central and Baseline to 7th Ave, and Baseline up to Dobbins and 7th.
“How did it begin?”
“Certain dudes in the neighbourhood refused to join the gang Happy Homes, and started South Side Posse Bloods. The cofounders included Lasaro and Chapo, who are dead now.”
“How dangerous did the gang become?”
“Extremely dangerous. We were known for havin’ guns. One night a Crip drove up and yelled, ‘Fuck Slobs,’ which is disrespectful to Bloods, and he shot into the crowd with a shotgun. After our gang had shot back, the police found ninety-seven rounds of ammunition in his car. One Crip died. One ended up in a wheelchair for life. It was on the news.”
“Do Bloods have different age classifications like the Crips have Pee-Wees or BGs?”
“We didn’t have ranks like that in our neighbourhood. Whoever puts in the most work gets the most respect.”
“What kind of work?”
“If enemies were talkin’ bad about us, we’d beat 'em down or shoot 'em. Drive-bys, stuff like that. Especially if they shot at us or killed one of us.”
“How big is the gang?”
“In ’95 there were fifteen-hundred members. It was the biggest Chicano Blood gang in Arizona. Until ’95, they were all the same gang. After ’95 they separated into little groups with their own shot-callers. But if somethin’ went down, if a gang challenged us by shootin’ at us, we’d all get together and retaliate, and not with just a single car drive-by. There’s be four or five cars, five guys in each, and everbody packin’ one or two guns. We were not people you wanted to cross.”
“Were South Side Posse big in the prison system?”
“At age twenty, I was the first member in the prison system. Then we didn’t have too many problems. But in ’95 the Mexican Mafia gave the green light to kill our members 'cause we didn’t play by their rules. They didn’t like the drive-bys 'cause kids and innocent people could get killed. But in our gang, if we’re gonna kill someone, we shoot when we see him no matter where he is or who he’s with. That’s why we’re known as one of the most dangerous gangs in Phoenix. When I came back to prison, I got jumped every time, every yard I went to. I was stabbed in my right side.” Bones pointed at a scar on his torso, and I noticed the SSP tattoo on his middle finger.
“How powerful were the SSP when you were last on the streets?”
“That was ’97. They’d branched off. There was 10th Street SSP. There was 7th Street SSP. And they were beefin’ with each other. The original dudes were dead or locked up. The new generation came up with their own rules, and were not feared by too many people. Several divisions bowed down to the Mexican Mafia by formin’ alliances.”
“What slang do you use?”
“Stuff like, ‘What that B like?’ meanin’ ‘How’s Blood life?’ Or ‘Whattup B-Dogg?’”
“Spelt Dawg?”
“Yeah or Dogg, like Snoop Dogg. We say, ‘bikin’ it,’ instead of ‘kickin’ it,’ 'cause all the C-words are for Crips, and we add a B for Bloods. If I’m kickin’ back, hangin’ out, I’d say, ‘I’m just gonna bik it, homey.’ We call Crips ‘crabs,’ 'cause they back up like crabs. And we call 'em, ‘E-rikets,’ 'cause they jump away like crickets. If a dude is dressed up all in blue we say he’s, ‘All boobooed up,’ and we’ll sweat him and ask him where he’s from.”
“Do you guys use expressions like, ‘fo shizzle,’ as in ‘for sure’?”
“No. That’s really for black gangs. Mostly for us, C-words become B-words. A cigarette is a bigarette. Crazy is brazy. I would say, ‘Did you see what that B-Dogg did, that shit was brazy, fool.’ Cousin is fousin.”
“Why not bousin?”
“It’s just the way it is.”
“If Crips are boobooed up in blue what do you guys typically wear?”
“Bloods wear red shirts and baseball caps, black jeans (dickies), and sneakers that are usually Nike. We had a bit of style. We were pretty-boy gang members, which attracted the girls. But don’t get me wrong: we were brazy Bloods.”
“Has this fashion changed since you’ve been down?”
“If someone claims Bloods they’re still wearin’ red.”
“What music do Bloods prefer?”
“Gangsta rap. The Relatives. Banging On Wax. Tupac – a lot – but he was just a thug not a Blood. Anythin’ from Bloods and not from Crips. We listened to Snoop Dogg until we found out he was a Crip.”
“I appreciate you talking to me, and providing an insight into gang culture. Is there anything you’d like to add?”
“After being in this gang life, out of fifteen-hundred gang members I knew, only three remained loyal to me, including Chris G, Negro, and my last homeboy, my brother, who did five years for manslaughter for killin’ a gang member who was tryin’ to kill me and had beat my sister with a sledgehammer. My brother’s dead now, so I’d like to put out an RIP for Robert.”

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

04 July 06

The Danger of Being a Brit in an American Prison on Independence Day (Part 2)

As a lone Brit surrounded by inmates running wild with July 4th excitement I
knew I was taking a big risk going to the chow hall. The breakfast special – pancakes, omelettes with turkey ham, biscuits, and cinnamon rolls – had induced a unique brand of patriotic madness into the crowd.
“Jon, your tray’s ready,” said a voice that could barely be heard above all of the noise. It was the midget Short Dog, the diet cook, who, for some reason, had chosen not to serve my chow through the hole in the wall, but instead to deliver it.
Mocking voices demanded I go immediately to Short Dog. I squeezed through the crowd and found Short Dog holding a tray containing a single bread crust and a cup of water. Suddenly, I was the laughing stock of about one-hundred-and-fifty inmates. I froze. I couldn't speak. My eyebrows twitched wildly.
Short Dog looked up at me, and said, “Happy July 4th, you Limey redcoat. You’re lucky you’re gettin’ this breakfast 'cause we don’t feed redcoats on America’s birthday. Here’s your bread and water. Sorry I couldn’t find a lime for your scurvy. Down with Queen Elizabeth. Down with Manchester United. Don’t make me get my squirrel gun.”
Insults rained down from every direction.
“Who authorised the water?” Officer Cooke yelled. “That’s way too generous.”
“Down with Beckham and the Spice Girls!”
“Write the queen,” T-Bone said, “and tell her America said thank you.”
“I’ll show you my Prince Albert,” Little Wood said, thrusting his pelvis, threatening to pull down his trousers.
“Let’s have a Boston Tea Party,” Slope said. “We kicked the goddam Limeys outta our country once. Why do they keep comin’ back?”
Two Tonys began singing "The Battle of 1814."
Slope commenced "The Star-Spangled Banner," and others joined in.

Oh say can you see,
By the dawn’s early light.

“Beckham can’t play for shit,” Short Dog said. “Down with King George.”
The slandering of the sports figure was the last straw. Although I was deep in enemy territory, it was time for me to respond. Like a fire eater, I theatrically tilted my head back and opened my mouth wide. I tossed the piece of bread inside.
My act of insolence raised some cheers, and George, in the fashion of a loyal retainer to the British cause, burst out in song:

Rule Britannia!
Britannia rule the waves
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.

After chewing the bread several times, while getting angrier and angrier over the defamation of Beckham, not to mention the slur on the Spice Girls, I decided to up my defiance, so I spat the half-chewed bread onto the tray and yelled, “Bugger Independence Day!”
I was promptly imprisoned in a corner of the room where I tried to blend in with the wall until my real meal was served.
Later on, I thanked the mastermind behind the prank, Slope, for giving me something to write about.

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

03 July 06

The Danger of Being a Brit in an American Prison on Independence Day (Part 1)

Travelling home from Two Tonys’, some inmates obstructed my way.
“Down with the queen I say!” Short Dog yelled. “No taxation without representation!”
“Two-hundred-and-thirty years of independence, and we’re still barbarians!” Slope howled.
“Bugger Independence Day!” I yelled at the inmates gathering in front of Building B.
My reply caused more inmates, large and tattooed, to come out of their cells and stare at me.
Hurrying away, I heard one of them shout, “Whatthafuck did the goddam Limey just say?”
If I were a Cyclops I would have chopped them up and eaten them for supper. Instead, I opted for appeasement. I stopped walking, raised my fist, and yelled, “I said, ‘Hurrah for Independence Day!’" Chased by their yells, I dashed home.

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

29 June 06

Halo
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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

27 June 06

Interview With A Crip

Ever wondered what it’s like to be a Crip?
Xena arranged for me to interview Savage, aka C-Ducc – a member of the Los Angeles street gang, the Crips.

“How did Crips come about?”
“It stands for Community Response In Progress. We were neighbourhood activists – protectin’ the neighbourhood from police brutality.”
“Which branch were you in?”
“99 Mafia.”
“Which means?”
“It’s where I grew up. 99th Street and Main. On the west side of South Central L.A.”
“How’d you join?”
“I got jumped in. They beat me pretty good. My teeth went through here below my lip.” Savage pointed at a scar below his left lip.
“What did they have you do for them?”
“At first I was just a BG – Baby Gangster – so I was stealin’ stuff like car stereos, car parts, and bicycles.”
“How old are BGs?”
“Young teenagers.”
“That’s the youngest division?”
“No. There’s the Pee-Wees. Kids, six to nine year olds. They don’t get jumped in. They were just born in the neighbourhood. They can ask to be jumped in though, which shows heart and respect.”
“When you graduate from the BGs what do you become?”
“A gangbanger. Like fifteen- to twenty-one-year olds.”
“What else is there?”
“There’s party crews and there’s OGs.”
“What’s a party crew?”
“A party crew is a bunch of gangbangers that don’t dress gangster. They wear nice clothes, go to clubs, and find white girls to recruit.”
“What do they have the white girls do?”
“They use 'em for money, and cars, and to do drive-byes. 'Cause they’ve got no records, they can buy guns and cash cheques. Wherever they work, like at a supermarket, they’ll give us free stuff. The main purpose is for sex. They feel loved 'cause so many guys are with 'em – until we don’t need 'em anymore, then we tell 'em to get out.”
“When they’re all used up?”
“Yeah.”
“An OG is an original gangster, right?”
“Someone who’s twenty-five to thirty can be considered an OG. They’ve bin-there-done-that. They don’t hafta gangbang no more. They can lay back and give orders to the younger generation.”
“Let’s go back to the work you put in for them.”
“I used to spray paint neighbourhoods, and rival areas. Enemy neighbourhoods like East Side 9th Street, East Side 40 Ounce Posse, and South Side Posse Bloods – Crips’ sworn enemies.”
“What happens if you’re a Crip gangbanger and you come across a Blood?”
“You’re supposed to say ‘Wassup cuz.’ That’s automatic disrespect. So’s maddoggin’ – lookin’ at them for more than three seconds.”
“It’s not a KOS [Kill On Sight] situation then?”
“It depends. There’s usually a fight. If there’s guns there’ll be a shootout.”
“When you graduated from BG to gangbanger what were your duties?”
“Gangbangers are obligated to represent the neighbourhood. If you don’t, you’re a busta.”
“Busta?”
“B-U-S-T-A, like Busta Rhymes. That’s someone who claims the neighbourhood but won’t stand up for it.”
“What kind of stuff did you do as a gangbanger?”
“I won’t implicate myself.”
“That’s understandable.”
“The craziest stuff gangbangers get up to is killin’ people – drive-bys, shoot-outs. It has to be real serious though.”
“For what kind of reasons?”
“Disrespectin’ the neighbourhood. Sayin’ shit like, ‘Fuck your neighbourhood. Fuck your dead home boys.’ Or if we catch rivals spray paintin’ our names out. That means they wanna kill you. My name used to be crossed out everywhere 'cause I was a bully. Always takin’ things and disrespectin’ people. I’ve always been big for my age.”
“What about the drug scene?”
“The BGs transport the dope, and drop it off with the gangbangers and OGs who sell it. They’re supposed to give money back to the community, but they use it for cars, clothes and guns.”
“What do you think of Tookie?”
“He was a cofounder of the Crips. It’s sad that they had to kill him. Back in the day, he was about negativity, but he turned positive. He’s one of the reasons for the Blood-Crip peace treaty.”
“Can any race become a Blood or a Crip?”
“If you’re raised in the neighbourhood – white, Asian, it don’t matter – you can join 'cause you grew up there and you know what the gang's about.”
“What about getting out of the gang?”
“I’m recognised as what I was when I was a teenager. I can’t escape that identity.”
“Isn’t that a mental thing?”
“No. There’s things you do which earn you enemies for life. I’d hafta to leave the State to get out, but my family’s here, my kids and my mom.”
“What happens on the streets, after you get out, if you run into an enemy?”
“I guess it’s the first one who can pull out the gun fast enough. It’s hard to walk away, 'cause that’s who I am.”
“What Crip tattoos do you have?”
“Here’s a Crip throwin’ up an M for Mafia – not Mexican Mafia.” Savage displayed the Crip on his right forearm. “Here’s my name C-Ducc.” (Duck was tattooed with two C's because Crips never use C-K which spells Crip Killer.) “Here’s 99 on my shoulder for 99th Street, and the MCG on the back of my neck stands for Mafia Crip Gang.”
“What are the Crips wearing these days?”
“The fashion currently is blue and grey – navy or royal blue. We have blue bandanas hangin’ from our left pockets. Bloods put red ones in their back right pockets. We’ll wear sports clothin’: yellow, brown, and green – except red. A true Crip will wear nothin’ but blue and grey with no kind of red in it. Pants are dickies: industrial clothes like maintenance janitors or farm workers wear. These days companies are catering to gangbangers, makin’ clothin’ that’s fashionable to the urban community.”
“What slang’s used?”
“Stuff like shiznit – shit – that’s the shiznit, meanin’ it’s good. You could say, ‘That shit is off the heezee for sheezee. Heezee is hook, and sheezee is sure, so I’m sayin’, ‘That shit is off the hook for sure.’ It’s somethin’ real good. If someone’s a mark or a busta, it’s terminology for disrespect.”
“What music do Crips listen to?”
“It’s mostly gangsta rap. West Coast Underground. There’s Crips makin’ music: Brotha Lynch Hung, C-Bo, X-Raided. They were makin’ music in the early nineties when Crips and Bloods were evolving, and they’re still puttin’ music out. Then there’s the mainstream Crips: Snoop Dog, and WC, Jayo Felon. The Bloods are also puttin’ music out: DJ Quik, The Game, and Mack 10. There’s the Samoan Bloods, Boo-Yaa Tribe.”
“You’ve given me a fascinating insight into Crip culture. I appreciate you spending the time to do this. Before I finish up, is there anything you’d like to say for the Internet, kind of summing up what we’ve discussed?”
“Yeah. If you’re not down for ass whups or bullet holes, you have no business bein’ in a gang. I’ve also got an RIP. Give my love to the homies that are dead and gone: Crazy-C, Little Cub, and Smoker.”

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

24 June 06

Pops and Slingblade's Shank Saga

Pops and Slingblade were brought back from lockdown to Yard 4. Pops ended up in A run in his own cell, and Slingblade was housed in C run with Bobble Head Bob (a murderer who is reputed to have set fire to his boyfriend).

“How’d you get out of the hole so fast?” I asked Pops.
“A guard brought me some forms.” Pops held up two forms: DI#6 Inmate Discipline Witness Request Form, and ADOC Inmate Disciplinary Report.

The latter read: On the below date and approximate time CO3 Dunn secured inmate [Pops] mattress. The scanner detected a metal object. Upon further searching of the mattress Sergeant Rios found a prison-made weapon sharpened to a point. Inmate [Pops] was verbally placed on report by Sergeant Rios.

“So what happened with the dangerous-weapon charge?”
“At first they acted like ass-holes, like I was a no-good man." Pops said. "Then the hearin’ officer never showed up by the hearin’ date, so, I guess by that time they’d found out the truth, and the ticket was dropped.”
“What was the truth?”
“The truth? By Gawd I don’t appreciate bein’ framed. They took a picture of me and all that bowlshit. They rolled us up like we were dirty guilty bastards – sonsofbitches!”
“Were you worried that Slingblade would get so hungry he would try to eat you in lockdown?”
“No. I gave him my pancakes and other stuff I couldn’t eat. I thought he was gonna go crazy 'cause there was less food. But 'cause he ate less, there was less farts. He eats five trays like I eat one, 'cause he don’t chew. He just sucks it down – schkkkkkk!”
“Even with your food, he still suffered a huge calorie cut, considering he eats five to ten leftover trays per meal.”
“He could eat a whole damn weddin’ cake! He don’t eat right. He’s gonna face the music one of these days. The way he eats, he inhales a lotta air, which is more gas. That’s why he has big-ol’, real-loud, long-lastin’ farts.”
“Are you missing him being your celly?”
“Hell no!”
“Will you ever have him back?”
“Never!”
“Did the guards ever find out whose shank was in your mattress?”
“They didn’t. It’s a mystery. Somebody musta threw it out on purpose, or forgot about it.”
“Alright, thanks for letting me know what happened.”
“You’re welcome. Remember to say hi to Queen Elizabeth for me.”
“I sure will, Pops.”

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood

21 June 06

T-Bone

Fresh from the hole after smashing a prison rapist, African American T-Bone arrived at Yard 4 looking as if he had just walked out of a Conan movie. Almost six-foot-six tall, weighing over three-hundred pounds, with arms that made his 6XL T-shirt look too small, T-Bone has got to be one of the toughest men on the yard. His body is covered in scars from stab wounds - which naturally caused my anecdote detector to start beeping. We talked, and I discovered an incredible story behind each scar. He said he had heard of my good reputation, and that he hoped nobody here has given me "any shit." After divulging his charges (drugs and violent crimes) he told me about a fight with an ex-cellmate.

“What did your celly look like?”
“He was six-feet tall and about 230 pounds. He had gold teeth and long greasy hair. He was a strong man. A cut up dude. He was benchin’ 385, squattin’ 475, and dead liftin’ 400 or more.”
“Wow! Why’d you get into it with him?”
“It came about 'cause he was a raper. He was rapin’ people on the yard. He raped a retarded kid with mental problems, in our cell. I said to him, ‘It smells like crap in here. What’s been goin’ on man?’ He said, ‘Whattaya thinks goin’ on? I just got me some.’ I told him, ‘Man, you’ve gotta get your nasty tail up outta here.’ He said, ‘No. You gotta get your tail outta here. You ain’t nothin’ but a punk anyway, and I’m gonna cut ya.’ He stood up, lookin’ at me all crazy. I hit him with a straight right and broke his jaw in two places. He lost four teeth. Another blow fractured his eye socket. I hit him flush and he was out.”
“What’s flush?”
“Flat. I thought he was dead. I laid him on his bunk and took a shower. When I came back, he was still on his bunk callin’ for his mama. Some white guys came over who wanted to kill him 'cause the dude he raped was a white guy. I stopped that. He was alone on his bunk, bleedin’ and groanin’, and I looked in his eyes and I saw a spark like he was becomin’ more aware.”
“Was he regrouping?”
“He had regrouped. From the top bunk, I moved my right leg. He jumped up. He had a rod of finely-sharpened iron. An eight-inch blade with a rag on one end and a real nice point on the other. I backhanded the wrist of the hand holdin’ the shank. He came at me. His eyes were red with rage. His jaw was swollen up. Blood was comin’ outta the corner of his mouth. He had death in his eyes - black pupils totally empty and void of emotion and feeling. I still have nightmares about the way he looked. He made his move: a lunge. I hit him in the right eye and he stumbled back. I kicked him in his right thigh and I felt my foot penetrate the muscle down to the bone. I knew I had to disarm him. His leg was momentarily numb, so in a split second I grabbed his right hand with both of mine and twisted his wrist. I broke his wrist and elbow, and kicked him in his lung.”
“Did he go down?”
“Oh yeah, he was finished. I put him on his bunk but he couldn’t keep still 'cause of the pain. An hour later it’s count time. A cop comes by. I’m usin’ the toilet. My celly rolled over and blood came outta his mouth in front of the cop. He said I’d assaulted him in his sleep. They took me to the hole. I was charged with dangerous and deadly assault on an inmate. I got a
seven-and-a-half-year sentence that ran concurrent with my other time.”
“So you did no additional prison time 'cause of the fight?”
“No, but the cops thought I was a real bad character after that.”

As this is T-Bone’s first blog, your comments would be greatly appreciated.

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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood