While walking down Fourth Street in my neighborhood, Fowler Homes, on a warm summer evening, BoBo, a member of a gang of thugs, Chain Gang, confronted me; “Doom” Johnny Richardson was its leader. BoBo was sent by Doom to inform me that I had lost my rights to Gaston Community Center, a very popular center for young boys and girls, unless I gave to him $5.00. Walking with me was Ted Lockhart, a long time boyhood friend.
Fowler Homes was a tough community where everything and anything might happen. In a split second, you could be on the ground from a knifing, fist, or gun shot. One act of disrespect or slight of tongue, one would be in an immediate confrontation. Everyone in Fowler Homes, during those days, walked softly and never carried a big stick but, a hook blade knife, steak knife and sometimes a gant (Fowler Homes slang for pistol). We were always on alert, there seems to be little peace nevertheless, we were community, did everything together.
I never knew the reason or rationale for Doom’s demand of money so I conceived my own ideas. First and foremost, they had plotted to kill, second, they knew that I was a fighter and might have developed some kind of reputation finally; this day was the start of my ultimate test. In addition, I was known in my neighborhood as someone who stood for right, justice, and a protector and defender of boys who were weak and alone, including my younger brothers.
I got this message on Saturday, not to come to Gaston on Monday without the money. The test was on, what could I do? Giving Doom or anybody money was out of the question, they all knew that, but the question is, will I show up or not, I truly believe that was on their minds. That weekend I kept thinking, what is this about? They know me; they know that I would fight to the death. Even Ted was confused; he asks if I would be at the park Monday. He also suggested that I stay at home. I became suspicious that he might be part of the plot.
To boot, that weekend was the strangest that I had ever known, of all the neighborhood teens no one said a word about Monday or Doom, it was unusually quiet. I felt as if everyone knew that I would be murdered, Monday.
As my siblings’ protector, second eldest and eldest male, my responsibilities were massive. My younger brothers looked to me for direction and leadership. My three sisters were young, the pimps and thugs were watching them. My parents had no idea of the situations that I was going through as a young teen in Fowler Homes. If I had told my parents and didn’t fight, devastation would have surrounded my siblings and me. I surmised, it would have been better to fight and die than, to tell my parents and not fight.
After all is said and done my father is culprit. As a young boy about six years old, I was playing alone on the sidewalk when a boy much older than I came by and decided to force me aside, with a shove. I did not resist, however, I didn’t know that my father was standing inside the door watching, he yelled, “you better fight him”. With fear deep inside my soul of both the boy and my father, I fought with all of my strength, as hard as I could. After that, it seems as if I have physically fought a lifetime. I have fought no less than 20 boys, men, and dozens of threats.
It’s Monday now, all day I thought about what I should do. Should I take a weapon or plant one somewhere but I didn’t know how or where this test would shape up. I finally resolved that I must confront Doom. Ted and I had gotten together again, started our frightful and slow walk toward Gaston Park. I decided to take the usual path from Fowler Homes down Fourth Street to Walker Ave then turn right towards the park. If I had taken any other path that would have also shown fear, I had to face this situation head-on. I was thinking that I would be attack somewhere on the way.
After we made it to Gaston Community Center, we took a seat in the bleachers, a few minutes later from across the basketball court I saw BoBo was coming towards us. With this mean and ugly expression on his face immediately, he first asked if I had the $5.00, the answer was obvious, he then said that Doom was waiting for me downstairs in the boy’s restroom.
Again, Ted asked if I would go. The answer was again obvious, yes. As I headed towards the boy’s restroom, I thought, this is it. As I made it to the bottom step just before the boy’s restroom door I hesitated, was it fear or a plan? When I entered the door I was shocked, everybody was in there. I mean everybody, every thug in the neighborhood, a huge crowd. As I looked around the room, on every face was a look of extreme seriousness, no one made a sound, and they were like roaches on bread.
Doom step from behind someone, there I was, finally, face to face with Doom, he ask, “Did you bring the money”? I said, “No”. Dooms said in a loud voice, “Then let’s get it on”. I was waiting to be ambushed from the rear but nothing happened. I had already planned, the first one that touches me from the gang, I would try to kill, with my bare hands.
We squared off in the center of the restroom, there was no way out, the room was packed. I was much taller than he was but his and my weight was about the same. He began to flex his muscles; this was a sign of weakness and fear per my conclusion. A fighter would start throwing blows and with no talk. He should bring the fight to me, he didn’t, I shifted from defense to offence.
Doom was known as a “jacker”, one quick hook or jab to the head, grab the shirt collar pull it over the head to blind one’s opponent, then strike with very fast punches and sometime kicks. He was not a fist fighter or boxer. I quickly realized that Doom could not defeat me; he didn’t know how to protect himself from the jabs that I was delivering to his head, fast as lighting. Each of my power punches snapped his head back, he would say, “You got a good that time”.
I had defeated Doom, until I decided to kick him, when I kicked, he was able to grab my leg and drew me inside, after a brief struggle of pulling and wrangling, I got the upper hand on the inside. Doom then delivered a powerful blow to my mouth that broke a tooth. I didn’t weaken but I felt as if I was in greater trouble. I had grew for the first time in my life, long fingernails, about a quarter of an inch, now I’m about to use them.
Doom and I are still a death lock together and rolling around the wall in a struggle. When I got his back against the wall, I turned even more vicious. I had lost a tooth and my mouth was breeding, I thought I‘d pull his eyes out, so I dug into his eye sockets with all the strength that I had. Doom screamed a loud cry then the lights went out, in the dark, he was able to break my grip.
Doom broke the grip, in a frantic effort to escape. I could hear tumbling and thumping in the dark as the crowd made way to the door. I thought the lights out was part of their plan to kill me. However, it didn’t turn out that way, everyone was afraid of the next one.
After the fight, the gang broke apart. No one ever mentioned a word about the restroom struggle between Doom and me. Everything returned to normal, with the exception, I never took my eyes off Doom until his death.
Well, as far as the thugs were concern, another day of life and excitement, in Fowler Homes.
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