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!