Chapter Segment

Chapter 1

Gang Material

Ty, Peter and I sat in front of the television set watching a local kid show. It was called Sheriff John; he sang songs, announced cartoons and children’s birthdays. Mama’s telephone rang. It seemed every time it did, it was for my oldest sister Dorothy Lynn, she lived on the telephone.

“Hello?” Dorothy Lynn paused to listen, seconds later. “Just a moment please, I’ll get her.” Then she held the telephone receiver out for Mama. “It’s the police department calling for Doris Robinson,” said Dorothy Lynn.

            Drawn away from the power of Felix the Cat, and Ricochet Rabbit, we watched Mama grab the telephone.

            “This is Doris Robinson,” she said.

            “Ma’am this is the Los Angeles Police Department. We have your son Lonnie ‘Rap’ Robinson in custody. He’s been arrested for auto theft. We need you to come to the police station.”

             Mama was stunned.  “I’ll be right there.”  She immediately telephoned her sister. “Louise, I hate to ask you but Rap’s been arrested.”

             When Ty, Peter and I heard Mama tell Aunt Louise the news that Rap had been arrested again, we weren’t surprised. We were just a little disconcerted that we were not going to see him again for a while.

             “Good-nis Doris!” Louise yelled.

             “He’s being held for auto theft and I need a ride.”
 

 “Those kids need discipline Doris,” said Louise, certainly not for the first time.

             “I know, I know,” said Mama. “But why is it the other kids, Larry, Jimmy, and Dorothy Lynn know how to steer away from trouble?”
 

“That’s the mystery of it,” Louise said. “You raise ‘em in the same cage, feed ‘em the same food and they turn out totally different. I learned that one size don’t fit all.  Some kids need special attention.  I can take you to the police station, but I won’t be able to stay.  I have to go to work right after."
 

Once Mama arrived at the station, she sat in the waiting room for at least an hour. A stream of other people had their complaints heard by the sergeant, then it was Mama’s turn.

            “I’m Doris Robinson.  I got a call that my son Lonnie Robinson is being held here, they say he is in custody.” The sergeant looked down at his desk and began flipping through the pages of his binder.
 

“Let’s see, Robinson, Robinson, here it is, Lonnie ‘Rap’ Robinson.” The sergeant pressed the intercom button on his desk.
 

“Desk to booking,” he said.
 

“Booking, go ahead.”
 

“Lonnie ‘Rap’ Robinson’s mother is here to see him.”
 

“10-4 we’ll send someone out to receive her,” replied the booking clerk.
 

The desk sergeant handed Mama a temporary clip-on visitor pass.

“Here, Mrs. Robinson,” he said. “Clip this visitor’s pass to your blouse in plain view. Mama was taken to a booth, on the other side Rap was brought out wearing a pair of handcuffs. He was placed in a seat and talked to Mama from behind the security glass.
 

With tears in his eyes, Rap spoke to her. “They said I stole a car,” he went on. “I got the car from my friend named Michael, Mama. He’s always at the park. I went up there in the morning to ask him if I could use his car.”
 

“Use his car? Use his car? Rap you’re 16-years old with no license?” By now she was raising her voice.

             “I saw police cars driving next to me, then they got behind me. I got scared when they turned on the red light so I jumped.”
 

 “You jumped?” asked Mama.

             “Out of the car. I ran but they caught me and started pointing their guns at me.”

             Mama just shook her head.

             “The only thing I can do is pray and hope you learned something from all this.”

             The guards came back out to get Rap. Detective Lemoore stepped into the room. He was smoking a cigarette.
 

 “Please give me a minute,” he asked the guards. They stepped back.
 

 Detective Lemoore was a tall white man with dark hair that he wore combed straight back. He wore brown cowboy boots with large heels with metal tips. Inside the waiting room, he grabbed a chair and moved it next to the seat where Mama was sitting.
 

“Ma’am, my name is Detective Mark Lemoore. I was assigned your son Rap’s case. I also worked on your other son, Neon’s case. Do you mind if I join you?”

             “Please, do,” said Mama.
 

 Lemoore sat down and continued. “I tried to reach you when I got the case but got no answer.”

             “I was working,” Mama told Detective Lemoore. “Its so hard being a single parent,” she said.

 “I completely understand, ma’am, would you like me to fill you in on what happened?”
 

 “Yes,” she said. “I already heard my son’s version.”
 

 “I don’t think mine differs too much from his. The report says that while our officers were out on patrol they passed a vehicle that appeared to be driven by a little kid. The officers made a u-turn and advised the dispatcher that they were behind the vehicle. Due to the driver’s youthful appearance they ran a check on the license plate. It surely doesn’t look like Rap is old enough to drive a car, ma’am.” They both paused to look at him.

“He knows he ain’t old enough to drive no car,” said Mama. Rap closed his eyes and dropped his head.

             Detective Lemoore continued. “Dispatch advised the officers that the vehicle was confirmed stolen, so other officers responded. Sometimes without the parents knowing,

kids will take their parents’ car out for a joy ride, then replace it before the parents can find out.”

            “They actually take they’re parents car out and replace it without them noticing?”

“Believe me it happens all over America,” he said. Sometimes they get caught. We thought Rap was joy riding the family car. When the officers got closer, Rap jumped from the driver’s seat of the stolen vehicle while it was still in motion.” Detective Lemoore shook his head. “That’s a very dangerous thing to do. Kids don’t jump out and purposely let their dad’s car roll down the street.”

             Detective Lemoore continued. “Rap ran from the scene while the driverless moving vehicle was left rolling down the street. Rap ran onto the freeway with officers in foot pursuit. The officers caught up to your son in the ice plant area near the freeway off ramp and took him into custody at gunpoint. He was later identified as your son. Rap agreed to talk to us and he told you himself what happened. He’s been honest and that can help his case. I called you here to tell you that he has been booked into juvenile hall.”
 

Detective Lemoore called the guards to take Rap back to lock-up.

            “I’m sorry, I love you, Mama,” Rap said as he was led away. Mama touched the partition between them and blew him a kiss.
 

Detective Lemoore escorted Mama to the door of the building. Before stepping out, Mama stopped. She was embarrassed by Rap’s behavior.

            “Detective,” she said with earnestness, “I apologize for my son’s behavior, I’m trying to raise him the best that I know how.”

             “Mrs. Robinson, your attitude confirms my belief that all is not lost. Most parents accuse us of making a case against their children. They’re just living in a state of denial. If you don’t mind me asking, Mrs. Robinson, where is his dad?”
 

“He stopped being a dad long ago,” she said. “He’s no longer in our lives.”
 

“I’ve been a cop twenty-eight years and during that time I have seen three generations of Angelino children grow to adulthood. If I arrest ten kids, nine of them had no dad at home. Those same kids had no direction, no enrichment type activities to keep them occupied, no discipline, and as a result no respect for the law. If there’s one thing I learned, its that if you don’t discipline your children, the criminal justice system will, and they won’t do it with love. Most of those kids I mentioned are now adults.  They are either in gangs, in jail, living on the streets homeless, or dead. Discipline starts at home.”
 

“So you’re telling me that Rap and Neon got arrested because there was no dad in the house, and I didn’t spank them?” asked Mama.
 

“Strong mothers don’t necessarily require a dad in the house. Spankings are not against the law, abuse is,” said Detective Lemoore. “Any self-respecting cop worth his salt will applaud a well-deserved spanking. It makes our job easier when children respond to authority. Rap and Neon have already passed the age where a spanking would do them any good. But it makes an impression on children less than ten or twelve years old. I’d like to show you something. Can you come with me?”
 

Detective Lemoore used his key to open the security door to the divisional offices of the LAPD and he and Mama entered. They walked across the shiny tiled floors, and down the hallway. They passed by the doors of several divisions of the Los Angeles Police Department: Child Abuse Division, Robbery Division, Vice Division, and Homicide Division.  They entered through a door marked Auto Theft Division. It was a large room with several cubicles. Detective Lemoore stopped at the desk where the nameplate read ‘Detective Lemoore.’ He pulled out the chair on the side of his desk.
 

“Have a seat,” he said as he walked around the desk and sat down. “The City of Los Angeles is faced with a dilemma, gang violence is on the upswing.” An eight by ten photograph of what looked like his wife and children sat next to an ashtray full of ashes and cigarette butts on his desk. He reached into a drawer and removed a folder.
 

“I have been compiling statistics on undisciplined youth,” he said as he opened the folder. “I’ve tracked, profiled, and categorized every juvenile arrest in the Los Angeles area for the past ten years. Then I supplemented these statistics with the consensus study of the projected rate of augmentation in the greater metropolitan Los Angeles area and…”

            “Detective,” Mama said, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I have no idea what you are talking about. Can you make it simple?”

“I’m sorry,” said Detective Lemoore. “Simply put, the statistics in that folder represent thousands of cases. There is a very high probability that in the next ten years we are going to be faced with an epidemic of gang violence. In the next twenty years,” continued Lemoore, “that number will double. By the year 1990 there will be approximately twenty thousand juvenile gang members living in the Los Angeles area alone. People will be afraid to walk to the store in the inner city.”
 

“My boys? In a gang?” asked Mama.

            “If they aren’t now, statistically the probability of them joining one exists,” said Lemoore.

            “Senior officials in law enforcement know this information because it’s based upon these statistics. Undisciplined inner city youth raised in single parent homes are more likely to become gangsters. It has happened time and time again, generation after generation.”
 

“Mrs. Robinson, you’ve already shown me that you are not a mother in denial so I’ll be frank with you, your boys are gang material.”
 

Mama dropped her head, then looked up. “What can I do about it?” she asked.
 

“That’s the dilemma. But the answer is really quite simple, yet parents can’t or won’t do it. We insist that our children do three things, their chores, their homework, and obey their parents. You’re job is to keep them occupied. Anybody who is successful today had these three things required of them while growing up.”
 

“And if they’re disobedient?” Mama asked.
 

“Its not enough to ask them, we must insist and not feel guilty or feel afraid to spank them if they need it. If a child grows into adulthood after being raised under those guidelines, and then decides to start criminal behavior, it probably won’t last long because its not how they were raised. When you think about it, its really not a tough choice,” he said.
  

Rap eventually went to court, and was found guilty. The judge said because he endangered lives of innocent citizens by letting the car roll, instead of twelve months, he was sentenced to eighteen months in juvenile hall.
 

Juvenile hall was not new to Rap. After being searched, like his younger brother he was marched through the recreation yard. His younger brother Neon who was still serving his sentence for arson, was getting his daily workout at the time. He said nothing, just watched and grinned from ear to ear as his brother was led onto the grounds. Once Rap was left in the cell, Neon asked if he could speak to his brother.
 

“What’s happening, cat?” Neon asked. “Mama told me that you were coming here.”
 

“I wasn’t trying to make this scene, Neon. How long you been in here now?”
 

“About a year and a half. Don’t worry, I got a crew in here called the Bloods. I’m their leader.”
 

“You? Their leader?” asked Rap.
 

“I know, its wacky?”
 

“The Bloods huh? You make that up?” asked Rap.
 

“Ha, ha, Yeah!” replied Neon. “Don’t worry bout nothing. When they find out that you’re my brother, you’ll get the same respect I do.”
 

Neon handed his brother a neatly folded red bandana. “What’s this?” asked Rap.

            “Its the color of Blood, brother,” said Neon.

The next day the Eastside gang was standing on the yard in a little group talking among themselves. It had been over a month, Neon never gave Rico an answer regarding a cut of his candy for a cut of Rico’s smuggled in cigarettes.

Rico turned and walked toward Neon’s huddle, his crew followed behind. Rico stepped inner circle, looked at Neon like a hungry tiger looks at his prey.
 

“Its been a while, I’m ready for an answer. Are we forming an alliance or not?”
 

Neon stood up and stuck out his chest.

“If its one thing I hate its some candy-assed El Stinko looking for dibs.”

 It was the ultimate disrespect. Rico fired back.

“If its one thing I hate, its skinny Mijates,” said Rico as he looked at the Bloods. Both crews took a fight stance. “I’m tired of this shit!” said Rico.

Kelso saw Rico spouting venom. He knew something was about to happen so he summoned all Bloods via the word-of-mouth network.

“They make noises like they’re the big badasses in charge. This is my house. Its where me and mi vatos live. We not gonna let no Mijates come in and Bogard. The blacks are making too much profit,” declared Rico as he started to swell his chest up.

            “I hate to be the one to disappoint you and your bean wagon, but you ain’t gonna be coming up in here and telling us nothing!”
 

“Bloods! Bloods! Bloods!” Neon yelled. His head rotated left to right as he yelled out. The entire yard surrounded Rico and his little Eastside crew. There were too many Bloods. Rico’s Eastside boys were no match for them.
 

“I got the gat pointed at you, Rico, you and your whole taco wagon. You got two choices,” said Neon. “I get your supply of smokes or I drop the hammer on your ass. Right here, right now!”

Rico looked left and right, realizing now that the risk he took did not work out the way he’d planned.  “Alright, vatu, you win, for now,” he said.

Rico and his Eastsiders were allowed to walk away. Rap knew about cigarettes and how to smoke them. He began experimenting with cigarettes when Neon first went to the hall. The first time Rap had smoked, the older boys in the neighborhood had played a trick on him. Their trick caused Rap to choke when he inhaled, but it was all in fun.
 

Neon and Rap began to extort Rico’s supply of cigarettes. Rap knew that Neon had never smoked a cigarette before. While the guards were occupied, Rap came out on the yard, and placed a cigarette into Neon’s mouth. He struck a match and lit the cigarette.
 

“Puff on it,” said Rap. “Get some smoke in your mouth.” Neon sucked on the cigarette, his jaws fat as they filled up with smoke. “Now, shake it around like mouthwash, give it a good swash back and fourth,” said Rap. Neon threw the smoke from side to side. “That’s it Neon, now inhale.” Neon opened his mouth and inhaled.
 

His eyes widened as he felt the burn of hot soured smoke entering his virgin lungs. It began to choke him, blood rushed to his head. He began to gag, the burn felt like someone had placed a red-hot poker down his esophagus. Neon tried to clear his throat but it burned like hell.
 

“Cough, Ahh yew! Ahh Yew! Cough! Cough! Cough!”
 

Neon kept coughing, each time he his throat felt raw. Neon tried to talk as he cleared the smoke from his lungs. “People, cough, ahh yew! People like this shit? Cough, ahh yew,” asked Neon.

“You don’t feel a rush?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Neon.

“That’s what you get with these, and then you get used to it.”
 

Rap and Neon were now not only in control of the candy, but Rico’s supply of cigarettes as well. On the day of their probation, Neon and Rap hit the streets continuing their operation, but this time selling marijuana on the street.  The names of these infamous new young criminals became synonymous with the drug needs of many troubled Angelinos.
 

Copyright ©2008 by Johnny Russell