Princely hands

     As I often say " You never know whose gonna get in your backseat!" And on a warm spring day two men hail me down on the W.50's on 11th ave. it was the Rolls Royce repair shop. The guy in his late 30's stayed silent. It was the older gentleman with his very distinguished mustache that did all the conversing. He took a shine to me and asked me a lot of questions. He explained how his Rolls needed to be serviced as we drove the very short distance to Park Ave South. He also mentioned in passing how he was the Prince of the Neatherlands. In passing?! So the old man hands me his card and tells me to ring him. I handed him one of my postcards. Hey, it had my number!

     A few days had passed and I got a message on my machine. Figured what the heck? So I returned his call. I gotta tell ya', it was a true pleasure to converse with this man. He was cultured, had a way of treating you like you were special. He invited me over on that following Sunday. He and his wife the Princes would be entertaining A New York Times Best Selling Author.

     When I say "Park Ave to the park bench", I mean it. But I've never been around a real Prince.

     I showed up with a a dozen pink Carnations. I know, cornball. But that's me. I entered and was announced and take up to the apt. In the lift. I was presented to the Princess and kissed her hand. Now I'm feeling really cornball. She was a lovely older women. The author was a women with her husband and we sat and were served champagne and orderves. We talked about this B movie that I had a featured role in called "Waitress." And my under fives in the soaps. The authors book and then we were shown around. As I sat the Prince placed a statue in my hands. He asked if I knew what I held? I answered no. He said "That my good fellow is The Maltese Falcon." I was speechless then but there was much more to follow. His city dwelling was a virtual muse am. He had a Picasso on one wall and a Rembrandt on another. The names of the other artist are a blurr. I touched the frame of some of then. That these treasures were out in the open made me feel as if I were in a private museum. 

     At the end of our tour he pulled me aside and showed me the blueprints to a mansion he was building his son in Connecticut. After all this I was overwhelmed. I finally had to call it a night and thanked everyone for a lovely evening. 

     There really was so much more that I was shown that there can be more pages here. But just with what I've mentioned imagine how my head was spinning.

     I guess that was the Princes intent because our next phone call was him propositioning me. How I could be his driver and the things he could give me. Yeah, all that wealth and beauty. And none of it meant crap to me. I don't and will never sleep with anyone unless it's sex that I want. And besides, I don't do men. Not for any money. 

     So, I thanked him and told him that I enjoyed his company and that perhaps we may be friends, but that's it! To which we ended our call and the Prince never called or returned any of my 2 messages left. I can live with me, and sleep well at night.

I can't blame him

     People like Hoffman, and others who've slipped and/or od'd aren't weak. It takes great courage to get out of bed when ur an addict or alcoholic. Don't make a difference in what the name of the substance is. It's the disease. 

     There's a saying "That once ur a pickle u can't go back to being a cucumber." Even after a year or two, at one time I hadn't done dope in over ten years. It only takes that first one. And off to the races. 

     Look life gets better. There's no way in hell that anyone's gonna spend years white knuckling it!

     Even driving a yellow cab in NYC, I get drug tested. And truthfully, it don't bother me. I don't like being tested but I feel a small sense of pride knowing that I'm clean.

     You try to find pleasure and joy in the small things! And with some work and support you build from that. 

     For some it's 12 step programs. For others it religion, and then for hard cases like me it's life. It took a real discipline. The only time I'd ever achieved any long period of clean time was with my martial arts training. 

     Intelligence isn't enough. If that were the case addicts would all be blue collar high school drop outs. In fact most addicts are incredible problem solvers. With skills comparible to any super spy. Living double lives for long periods of time. Keeping that secret, guarding that secret to within an inch of death. And many will die keeping that secret. 

     If you notice, many people don't die in squaller, they're not financially destitute. In fact a great many die when they're on the upswing or even on top of the game. 

     One thing I couldn't stress enough is that addiction runs the gamut. From hard working people to the squzziest, sleaziest low life's in existence. 

     The flip side of the coin is that just because someone has long periods of clean, sober time doesn't mean that they're right in the head. My own sponser at the time who had 20+ yrs without a drink told me that I had said to him that I molested a child. That shit really blew my mind. To make the jump that I'd go from being a child whose been molested to that I'd do some sick shit to any child had me wanting to hurt him really bad. Actually, it hurt me so much that couldn't look at him anymore. In my book that is the lowest you can go. I've never been able to figure that one out. What I do know is that whatever his motives, all I could really do is live my life as I've been doing it. I haven't come this far in life to wind up with a felony jacket over some piss in his pants drunk. 

    I'm constantly asking myself "Is this worth it?" Is it worth destroying what I've started building upon?

Rampage runnin wild

     It wasn't but a matter of weeks with my father being escorted out by the cops that my mother had the apartment full of young drug addicts, hippy type people from all over Bushwick Brooklyn. It was like smoke signals went up and her party began. It was an open door policy at our apartment. There were the half decent people that would bring something in hand, even if it was a quart of milk or some penny candies. But most were straight up junkies, potheads, you name it. The line was drawn at the glue sniffers. Mental burnouts  tripping on that shit or carbona. Aside from that they usually stunk from not bathing in weeks. It's not like we had much but they'd even steel our toys if they thought they could get .50 cents!

     Truth is that the girls were all nice to me. I guess they could tell that I was attracted to them. I really liked when they'd kiss and hug me. Shorty and Jasmine were amoungst my favorites. They always smelled of perfume and Jasmine would lift me and squeeze me tight against her tits. Ohh man. Even now it excites me. 

     One day after they had smoked some pot they decided to take naps and Shorty got into my bed. All I can remember is that I got my thingy hard and I started rubbing her breast and behind. I got real brave and started kissing her neck, cheeks and finally her lips. A kissed her neck and gave her a hickey. 

     I was all of 7-8 yrs old. When she awoke she flipped out. Jasmine was laughing and called me a horney little boy. She wasn't really angry with me, she was more upset with what her boyfriend would think.

     All I could figure was to go talk to her boyfriend one on one. I had $3. Saved so I went out and found him on Knickerbocker and Halsey. I pulled him aside from his friends. The guy was like twenty but I didn't want her to get hurt. I told him that I didn't know she had a boyfriend and I made a mistake. That my mom was already gonna kill me, but for him not to blame her . I gave him the three bucks to squash it. I said I'm sorry and had to get home to get my ass beat. And that was that. 

     What I remember was them all laughing saying that my mom don't have to worry about me being gay!

With friends like mine

     I knew I wanted to be an actor when I was in 15yrs old. I was running with a really beautiful group of people. We were a small family. There was Al, the actor. Then Diane, the sister of Albert. She was a student at NYU and Albert her younger brother was still finding himself. Gina was a tall attractive girl whose dad wrote the song "Hard Headed Women" for Elvis. Then there's me. The sort of kid with rough edges. 

     Diane picked me up one day cause she wanted uncomplicated sex. We were all a sort of broken pieces that fit at the time. 

     We all had our faults but we really had love. With the exception it Albert, Al and I made it with all the girls. And there were more then a few threesomes. It was the 70's and we were young. So sexual exploration was the thing. And love was in the air.

     We didn't have much in the way of money but together we were one smooth ass crew. Me with my Suade pointed shoes, blazer and tinted 50's shades. Al with his leather pants and pout that he had perfected. Albert was always trying things and Gina was tall thin and glamorous. 

     We would go to Studio 54, 12 West, the King st. Paradise Garage. You name it. We would get invited. And wherever we'd go we'd dance down the house. What was explosive is that we not only did the Latin Hustle, we would also do Salsa and we were all freestyle specialist. It was like a show and when we'd start switching and dancing amoungst ourselves we were the hottest crew on the floor. We could all lead and follow. It was a special time. 

     We had other members of the group that would come out speratically. Even I'd go and come. But when we hooked up it was as if it was only yesterday.

      One things for sure, even though Gina picked me to make her a women, she truly wanted to be with Al.

     Al on the other hand only really loved Al. When I asked him if I can be an actor? He told me that I don't have what it takes and to not waste my time.

     Times change and now I'm in college working nights full time as a security guard so I can study and nap before classes in the morning. I got into theatre and once I was on stage I knew it was for me. Fran LaPate, a fellow actor who had won an award for this spicey meatball commercial pulled me aside and told me that I have what it takes. The difference to me was that this old women knew what she was talking about. She really worked. And Al Rios had done a Spanish toothpaste commercial when he was like 8, and we had to watch "Saturday Night Fever" twice to see him walk off the dance floor during one of the club Dance scenes.

     I knew that studying was always important. From my Sensei Robert Weinberg, my karate teacher. So I studied with Sonia Moore, Method acting. Then with Wm. Hickey at HB Studio and finally Geraldine Page at the Real Stage at West 51st. Between 8/9th ave. I always studied voice, diction and played with accents . Especially in the cab. 

     My Physics Prof. At NYCTC told me that an actor needs life's experience not a degree. So, it made sense. And that's when I started learn the biz and going for work. I did lots of extra work on soaps , films and commercials. Before you knew it I was doing under fives and booked a nat'l Bud commercial. From there I got myself featured on Fame the tv show. Booked a commercial, then a legit agent. Abrams Artist, commercial and Gersh Legit!

      After a nice 2 hour karate workout I went and picked up my cab. I stopped at E.5 st. & Ave. A to pick up a bottle of Pepsi and went back to work. Another cab cut me off and the Pepsi hit the floor of the cab. Long story short, a shad of glass lodged in my mouth. I went to Mount Sinai ER and after test was told I may have cancer. Went to St. Vincent's on W.12st and it was confirmed. I was operated and radiated. 

     When I was released I was told that I had 5 to 7 years. At first I figured I'd go all out acting. 

     Booked feature roles in See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Awakenings and Guest Starred on Miami Vice. But the noise in my head said fuck it. If you're gonna die do it flying high. All the shit I put down for years, over a decade, I did with a vengeance. Mind you I was already dying with cancer I didn't need any other diseases! Crazy? YES! Stupid ? NO!!!

     I got a Co-Star role in a film called "Privlege" by Yvonne Rainer. Got exceptional reviews in the Advocate. 

     One day I was on W89st. & Amsterdam ave. and ran into Al Rios. I gave him a hug, he must of gained 100 lbs. huge. He told me that he was in therapy and that he saw the review in the Advocate and that he had to apologize for what he'd said to me so many years ago. I smiled gave him a hug and kiss. Wished him well and went on my way. For the next 10 years it was on and off the Mary go round. 

     After so many years of this back and forth dance, I'm finally off. And at times happy! I really have to add this. I'm not afraid of success or failure. I want this and if it means anything then anything is what I'll pay to do this! I love it. And I want to share all my successes with those who are on my team. Mi Gente!

PS: I had to make a correction, the song Gina's dad wrote for Elvis Presley was "Hard Headed Women!" He wrote it for his wife, Gina's lovely mom!

There are stories

     From day to day you never know whose gonna get in your back seat or where you'll wind up taking a fare. That's the short of being a cabby. I've driven since 1978. Mostly night shift. In the 5 different decades that I've driven a yellow cab in NYC each day is an experience. I've got a slew of standard answers for the inquisitive passenger. The most common question is "What's the craziest thing to happen in your cab?" What I want to say is "Your thinking that I'm really gonna tell you!" But I answer the question with "What category?" Sex, violence, celebrity?

     Let's face it, in 35yrs very little gets tired. Whats happened to the people in the city is a dreadfully boring move toward conservativness. 

       The sex in the back seat is dead. You don't even get the occasional blow job. Not even making out. These asshole Muslims and their ultra religious beliefs are part of it. What's really sad is how pussy these wannabe New Yorkers don't have the balls to be free and express any kind of passion. 

     Guys don't take flowers or candy. Nothing in hand for the girl. Young guys are as smart as door nobs. I can't tell you how often I ask a kid "Do you have a condom?" I mean they're going for move with nothing in hand and don't have the sense to at least protect the girl. Stupid fucks. So this lowly cabbie offers them a condom. Actually two. Not that they'll go twice but rather if the damage the first one there's another there. Hahahaha... I gotta laugh. When I was 10 or. 11 I remember practicing so I could do it smoothly. Even now, it's always about being smooth. 

     I make no pretense to like my father. But he instilled one thing that will always hold true. The women cums first. And he always told me to wear condoms. It's that and that alone that's kept me from contracting "el montro" (the monster.)

     I shouldn't give my shit for a father more credit then he's due. I've also never shared a needle. I can remember being about 6/7 yrs old and thinking that one of the reasons junkies looked sick was that they shared needles. I had a heart to heart with a white junkie as he got off at the kitchen table and I ate my corn flakes for breakfast. He explained how he had gotten sick with hepatitis twice. So I figured that sharing a needle was the wrong thing to do. I had a small lizard and he swooped it with me for his small switch blade. Ah the lizard didn't do anything but eat piss and shit. At least I could play with the knife.

Reapers NYC 1st Div.

I was the youngest. The kid in the crew. The older guys flew colors. And they were fly. Hand sewn satan jackets with beautiful colors. And yes The Reaper in center. We had a good thing. Our own club house. 205 W.88st. The back of the ground level. It was a dining hall with marble floors and columns. The back room was the kitchen. It was a huge space that we leased and we used it to work out and hang. Then there were the DJ partyies. We'd charged admission, beer and booze and we'd throw the party. For a short while it was a beautiful thing. Our leaders were cool. But they were short on heart. All it took was a few skirmishes and a major rumble and they disbanded. I can only say that it was the right choice.

     The rumble happened in the open lot and park of St. Gregory's catholic school on W.90st Amsterdam ave. & Columbus ave. Soda took a bullet to the leg and I got tapped on my left side by someone's 22 short. Had to be a zip gun. Leather jackets ain't the same no more.

     All the bullshit and coulda died over bullshit colors. After we dropped the jackets business picked up the heat from both the dumb ass gangs and corrupt cops died down and we were able to earn and run our thing quietly. We were still all family. We still had it all. What we didn't have was the stupid willingness to die over a dumb piece of cloth. 

     There's so much more but I'm not writing a tell all blog. And even though there's so much more in the book, I will never sell out a brother. People like jean, Snoop Dog were kids on the block. But he was never down with us. He had to go to LA to reinvent himself. Rich don't mean shit. It's the love of brothers that keeps us whole. That keeps us alive!

     

House of the rising son

      There are days like today where I wake up feeling like a loser. Nothing new it happens often. Matter of fact, it's a wo's me party in my head. Poor me, poor me.

      Then it takes a few minutes. A good cup of coffee and something light to eat and I'm almost there. I sit and think and remember. Not the bad things, but about the they lovely women in my life. All that beautiful pussy. How much love there was. How truly blessed and fortunate I've been to have had women love me so much that to not have me meant they would rather destroy me. There's a thin line between love and hate. Very thin. 

      Then there's Bob. An old man that I love with all my heart. Not sexual, but a   Genuine love. He is more the any family or any friend have ever been.

      I met Bob when I was being treated with physical therapy for my right knee. He was the Director of recreation. More then that he was a person who cared enough to spend time sitting and talking with me. You could compare him to what an old style chorus singer. Knows all the standard Broadway show songs and has a history of films from the 30's thru to the. 60's. We'd spend lots of time talking about so many of the Hollywood stars of yesteryear.

     After I got out we stayed in touch. He helped me clear my drivers lic. And I got my hack lic. He made a loan and I kept my word. Since then I bought him a gold watch, and a gold chain and crucifix. In the last 5 years I pretty much changed his wardrobe. Shirts, slacks, sweaters. You name it. He's my bud and there's nothing I won't do or give him. I just wish I could do more. He's always there for me and I'm there for him. 

     It's not the kind of thing I take lightly, love. But I love Bob. I'm glad I met him. And I pray he's around for many more birthdays. You know, if I could I'd give him years from my life I want him around so. But that's not how it works. It's Gods time, not mine! Bob is my rising Sun.

PO' ass mofucka! 2

     Life's bullshit comes in a size 15 wide for some people. How they keep that shoe in their mouths is mind boggling. That the same shoe should be put up their asses is really mind blowing!

     I don't usually try to spend too much time on other peoples bullshit. If you do it'll wind up costing you more then money.

     Fact is that everytime I look at this guy I want to hit him. Look, when a guy tells you that he's looking at his dumb baby mamas 14 yr. old cousins pretty feet and that she's using her pretty feet to come on to his 42yr. old ugly drug addicted ass. Like a sicko he starts asking me questions to feel me out. Whether it's ok to talk to me about his desire for a child? When I tell him that it's sick to even be thinking about this shit he tries to flip it and then I'm stuck listening to the bitch lie, flip,deny and re create everything I just heard to bitch say. There I am holding a large knife cutting vegetables and what I really want is to cut his testicles off. I use that word cause he has no balls! Total pussy. Sometimes being patient really pays off.

     I could of jumped so high I could fly. Patience is a virtue.one that I'm excercising like a muscle. Not only is this sick sack of shit on suspension from his MTA job the stress of all the bullshit in his life caused him to act out and show his real colors. He claims he took the subway the wrong way and wound up getting arrested for fondling a women's behind. His words "She fell backwards and i reached out to stop her from falling and my hand accidentally touched her ass!" I guess it could happen. And considering he got busted for the almost same exact thing 2 1/2 yrs ago proves that accidents do happen more then once! Hahahaha.. Ahhh just had to take a moment to laugh.

     Don't even get me started on this perv's drug addiction or that he's a cheap, selfish, greedy shit that does overtime when it comes to lying and manipulating his dumb baby mama. She's a kid. If she's older then 23 it's a miracle. She's actually a nice kid who got involved with this pervert and bought his bullshit hook line and sinker. I was cooking a could hear there conversation from the open door. After less then a minute I had to throw my omelette and it's ingredients in the trash. I lost my appetite. All I could think of is " If this girl was my sister I'd beat his ass." But if I fight everybody else's fight, I won't be there to fight for my self. That's where, pick and choose your battles comes from! And today thanks to the cosmic karma that eventually touches us all, I don't have to fight this fight.

     I am left with one huge concern. This sick sack of shit actually thinks he's gonna go work for the Border Patrol. God help those poor Mexican female illegals crossing with there young daughters. From what I know about my Mexican brothers, they got something for that ass!

     

Betrayal

      Most people get into relationships without half an idea what loyalty really means.

      My father had the most beautiful bible  I've ever seen. To date, perhaps a true work of art. The gold on the pages was real gold. Turns out it was stolen from a Catholic Church. 

     My uncle Flame and he broke into a church and stole it as well as other items. What I can say is that the two of them were what brothers should be! They had a real bond. The loved each other. They were there for one and other. 

     It wasn't until my father was in his 40's that he started to turn his back on his brother Flame. Flames birth name was Alberto. Belto for short. He was the warlord of the Jesters gang in Brooklyn. He was a dope addict and thief. But he was a tough motherfucker. He was many things but he was tough.

      My father may have been good with his hands. Actually, really good. But he never had the heart that his younger brother Flame had. Problem with too much heart means a lot of the time that you don't use your brains. 

      Flame loved his wife Elvia. They had six children. One day while he was high he had a jealousy fit and beat his wife to within an inch of her life. The DA decided to make an example of him. He was featured in all the New York papers. Along with photos of his beaten wife. He stuck a screw driver down her throat and beat her with a bike rim. He almost killed her. He wound up in Clinton-Danamora Prison. He did five years and as a result of the short sentence the govt out in a law on the books that better reflected the heinousness of the crime. The law was named after him. The Elias law. And nobody except my father takes pride in that it's named after our family name.

     The arresting Detective and his now ex wife became romantically involved and he moved them away and the all disconnected from the family. Totally! 

     It may not be provable, but we all know that the Detective reached out and paid a jail gang to go after Flame and beat him and gang rape him. There were five guys. And he was hospitalized. He would have been better dead. Being beat, raped and torchured like that broke him completely. The whole family figures that Elvia's hate for him and all the years of abuse manafested in such a vendictive contempt that she didn't care that they shared six kids. 

      I don't pretend to know it all because toward the end he had become a homeless alcoholic who would just deficate himself and walk the streets like that for months without showering. 

      The saddest part to this whole thing is that my father and his father lived within walking distance from the very streets he lived on. Homeless. My grandfather owned as many as twenty buildings in Greenpoint Brooklyn. Even the building my father lives in was owned by my grandfather. Now they're all owned by his daughter, my aunt and he's dead. At least they didn't let him be buried in Potters field!

     

Father Figure

     When I was in my teens although I had my grandfather, Alfonso Ramos, I met a man that I owe my life too. That I'm alive, that I'm not in prison, I owe to Robert S. Weinberg. This man reached into my chest and held my heart in his hand. Literally, he pressed his right hand against my chest and I surrendered allowing his right hand to enter my chest. I felt his hand cup my heart and at any moment he could of ripped it from my chest. But the bond the trust respect and love are such that I still live!

     This skinny lanky Chinese kid named Robert chu was walking up Amsterdam ave. and his green belt was sticking outside of his gym pants and I figured I'll just kick this chinks ass and show him what kind of karate he knew. But upon approaching him I asked what kind of karate he studied. Turns out I took his info and instead of kicking his Chinese ass I actually went to meet his Sensei and inquire about learning. My curiosity saved my life. I walked up to this man whose eyes reached out of his glasses. And his arms were like Popeyes arms. 

      I asked, you teach karate? He said yes. Well I wanna learn. There I stood with a knife are my side with my gang jacket and my Afro hair style. 

     He reluctantly gave me the paperwork and told me what I needed to do. The next class I was there. That workout was one of the most difficult workouts I can remember. He wanted to make sure I didn't come back. But the very next class I was there! He was surprised that I was there. He said you must be serious about training?! I said yes! Then there's 2 things you must do. I said; What? He said 1) you can't do drugs. I said OK. He said 2) You must cut your hair. 

     That next class I walked in with a crew cut!

All night long, and then again ...

Dedicated to David Orbach.

     It was the mid 80's and I'd been living the the fringe of the party life . Exclude drugs and booze and I was in. 

     So it's about. 12:30 am and I'm at W.47st. & Broadway in front of the Paris Burlesk Theatre. This blonde/white haired lady steps out of the theatre and hails me. I pull over she gets in and tells me Plato's Retreat. Where? W.34st. & 10/11th ave. we pull away. After a moment she asks me if I knew where she was going? I said that I remember a place on W.74st and Broadway by the same name . 

     After another moment she ask me if I'd like to check it out ? I say , Sure.Her only condition was that I had to fuck her first. I turned smiled and said OK.

     Parking at night was different in NYC then . I pulled over parked and dropped my bag in the trunk. We didn't wait on line. Nothing. We were in in seconds and before you knew it I was naked wrapped in a towel with my possessions in a locker. We met and went to shower. We fucked our way through the entrance and into the lounge. She told me to go ahead baby . And you bet your ass I did.

     This women that was being fucked by two guys eyed me and reached up and grabbed my cocked and started to blow me. The guy on top moved and she gestured for me to move on in . I climb on top and rocked her . She really started to get excited . The man under her who it turns out was her husband lost his hard when she got into me . He tried to move me off but she pushed him away and she gave me her ass. I hit it hard and steady until I exploded in orgasm . She and I had a rythm that everyone in the large room circled around us to see. And when I blew my wad she grab her husband and said enough ! I went and showered. When I looked up she pointed across the room at me with a smile saying Later. Later.

PO' ass mofucka.

Then there's always the asshole who makes a relatively decent wage and thinks he's better then everyone around him. When the cold truth is they're nothing but a drug addict. Using pharmacological opiates, without a valid script mind you but since it's not herion or any illecit substance they aren't the same as the lowly heroin addict. They are better , different. 

     It don't matter that he was arrested for a sexual offense on the subways. " Hey I was on my way to work. And I'm an MTA employee. I hold a position and a title." I repair small machinery and I'm special! 

     That he's about to be fired isn't possible. Those days that I missed work were covered under my sick days. I was nauseas and I didn't feel good. The drinking till I was fall down drunk had nothing to do with it. That I ran out of Percocet had nothing to do with me being sick. Those are paid sick days!

     My biggest problem is all my credit cards want to be paid at the beginning of the month. And this bitch that had my baby lied cause she was supposed to be on birth control. She's 20 yrs old and I'm 38 yrs old and she set me up. Look she's on welfare and gets SNAP ( Foodstamps) and Medicaid for her and the baby but the bitch don't want to work. The money I give her is for the baby not to pay her phone bill. And I can't pay my phone bill so I need to used your Snap phone and you got to help me with your Foodstamps cause I'm giving you some money every two weeks. We got to work together. And to make it clear, you are not my women. If we fuck it don't mean shit cause I come to see the baby . And by the way, if I give you some money you got to get up at a time that's appropriate. You got to do things the way I say, the right way!

No shoes

     Some only remember the harm inflicted on them. I'm lucky cause I can remember much more good. 

     It was 3 am on a week night. A young lady in her late 20's hails me. I pull over pick her up and ask where to? Queens, 34 ave in the 80's. E.14st and Broadway south bound by the park. I shoot down Broadway to Spring and over to Bowery. One quick right a left and over the Williamsburg bridge. Within minutes we are there. I keep looking back. I thought see was stoned. We barely said a word. So I figure she just didn't want to talk. 

       I noticed that she leans forward but it wasn't threatening so I just kept her in check. We get there and she has to go up to get the money. She gave me her info and as I was waiting I looked in the back seat. She had urinated on the floor if my cab. I just about blew a gasket. I locked my car and got into the building. When I got to her door it was open. I knocked and heard her crying. I called out "Hey lady?" But she had water running. I went in and found her crying and cleaning herself . But something was wrong I could feel it. What's going on? She looked up with those sad eyes and in my heart I knew . I told her to stop and put on some cloths. I told her to stop and put her clothes in a bag and to come with me . We got downstairs and I sat her in the front seat. 

I didn't ask any questions just tried to assure her that she was with me and it was gonna be alright. I drove to the Elmhurst emergency room. I help her out and walked her inside. I discretely told the intake nurse that shed been raped and that gave the nurse the bag of clothes. She walked away with the nurse and turned to me and said thank you. I nodded and walked away. I took my cab to the carwash at 12 ave. I cleaned it out and ran it through the carwash. And NO! I didn't even think about the fare ! I just wish I coulda done more .

     

Back and over

     It was 1973 and I was a sophomore in High school. My freshman year at Manhattan Voc. Tech. H. S. Was a disaster. I sold pot and mescaline. Black Beauty's and anything I could make a buck from. Spending more time out of school then in lead to an adventurous year. 

     I really was a good student. Good grades, good attendence. But when I was eleven years old I found myself standing infront of a family court judge who was asking me if I wanted to stay home. Of course I told him I did. I was an A student who never missed school and at 11 years old I was doing exceptionally well considering our deep dark secrets . 

     What I didn't know was that my mother was following her pattern of putting her man before her children. So when we got home I got beat by both of them.  

     Within a half year, 6 months, I was a Black Spade, selling pot and whatever. I had become a full fledged juvy criminal mini- gangster. By 12 I had a .22 short revolver. I sold drugs and rarely if ever used them. But I made money in many ways. Even climbing into 2nd and 3rd floor apt. Windows. It wasn't about hanging with kids. I got my real education from the masters of the game. Not only did we play some sports but we trained. Boxing, wrestling and some karate. We'd learn about jewelry and antiques courtesy of the books and magazines thrown in the trash by our upper Westside intellectual and cultured neighbors. They'd even drop then by the door of our basement antique store. "Freddy's."

Seeing them started young

     There are many things you don't elaborate on in your youth. It isn't that old age makes you honest. Far from it. As you age you can grow to care not what others think. The flip side are those who care so much that they wind up with high blood pressure and heart disease.

     I know early on not to tell anyone my secret. I have my father to thank for that. He really was a dumb ass. Ridicule, sarcasm and mockery. That's enough with him.

     I was in the second grade because Mr. Brownstein was my teacher. On my way home I saw this tall thin blonde haired man standing at the doorway of the barbershop. This was a Puerto Rican barbershop. Turns out the tall blonde man that would step out to look me in my eyes was the previous owner of the shop. Who, was now deceased! It scared me because no one else could see him. I was the only one. And he knew it. I tried to explain it to my father, hence I knew I was on my own with this one and the many other times that were to follow!

PTSD

     I'm self diagnosed. PTSD from years of abuse growing up and into adulthood. Signs were always there but by being around my mother as an adult almost crippled me emotionally. 

     To avoid going back into the shelter system I moved into her home. From the beginning it was made clear that this wasn't my home. 2 bedrooms empty and you had to sleep in the living room in a corner. You weren't allowed to have a bed. You used two excercise mats. Rarely were you ever given food. You could be sick and you wouldn't get a glass of water. I was sick with fever and took a piece of chicken to make soup and she poured choleric into it. 

     Yelling was more common then the spoken word. And then she'd get into her hyper vidulant stage and she'd throw open the door and tell you you have to leave and the threats with the cops start. More then threats, she'll go to family court and lie to the judge getting an order of protection. When she's ready, usually when you're at your lowest she will call the cops and serve you and you're out in the streets. This has happened to me three times. It will never change!

     It's not by chance that you're at your lowest point emotionally. You are physically sick by the time she calls the cops . 

     I used to hate being Puerto Rican. But that has nothing to do with it. There's a genetic connection between my grandmother and her children that lead to this. Mostly though it's environmental. I say this because my mothers older half sister grew up away from her mother. Her father took the baby away from my grandmother to be raised by his sisters. What's come clear to me was that he knew she was incapable of healthily rearing a child. 

     My mothers father had 3 children with her but wouldn't marry her. She was a hot woman but she had emotional problems that were obvious to others. So here is where it all starts.