The Good Die Young

The vacant lot at Park and Louisiana Avenues in South Saint Louis is an notorious hot spot in The City. A few of my close friends have lost their life on that lot or nearby in the 3400 block of Park Ave.

For as long as a I can remember The Lot has always been just that, The Lot, a place to go hang out, play some ball, drink some brew, pig out a little barbeque. It's sort of The Block's urban hangout suite, complete was balding, brownish grass, un-recycled glass, and a plethora of debris and trash.

The City is responsible for it's upkeep, but you know how that goes, one month they'll clean it, the next month they'll ignore it and in between those times, some bad shit'll go down on it.

For me, The Lot is very much apart of my upbringing, from playing baseball and football on it, to racing and having brick fights. All in all, it is what symbolizes The Block; fun-loving and caring to out and out cruel and unusual punishment.

The first person close to me to die on The Lot was my older brother's best friend, Delancy M. Davis.

Delancy was the first brother in the hood that played organized baseball and I sort of dug that. In actually, the brother was a role model to me because all I keep remembering about him is him walking through The Block wearing his brown and gold A.G. Edwards baseball uniform, circa 1982.

"Main (his nickname)," I said to him, "who you play for?"

Main, six years my senior, was callous in his response.

"Don't worry about 'lil soft ass runt, you can't play."

"Naw, serious man," I countered, "who do you play for."

"Why man?" he shot back.

"'Cause I wanna play."

"How old are you, you 'lil runt?"

"Eight."

"Oh well, runt, they don't start lettin' you play until ya' eleven.”

I was confused, yet stoked. In fact, that day I was determined I was going to play summer ball for A.G. Edwards some day and show Main I could handle mines on the baseball field.

Back then, we used to play ball daily during the summer on The Lot. Every time I wanted to be on Delancy's team because he was the oldest and always picked the best team. He never picked me, though.

As Delancy got older, his passion for the game quivered. Slowly, but surely his skills faded as his street savvy soared. By the time he was sixteen, he was doing time in the Juvey.

One day after he had gotten out of Juvey my brother and I were jiving with him about getting beat up while he was in Juvey. Come to find out later, Delancy actually put a whooping on the dude, but you know how it is when you are ten and twelve as me and my brother were at that time, you just want a good laugh. By the time Delancy got finish mopping up the concrete with me and my brother, he was the one with the last laugh

"The fag pop and the runt," Delancy barked at us, "soft side suckas."

Looking back on it, that, along with plenty of other bum rushes courtesy of The Block's #1 family, was me and my brother's initiation into the neighborhood clique. Three year's later my brother and Delancy were running mates, just two of the most feared and respected young hustlers in The City.

Early in the summer of 1990 things were scorching in The City and I'm not just talking about that 95 degree heat. The City was hot with gangs, dope dealers and all-out urban warfare as different factions of gangs, blocks, and hoods claimed stake to their territory. In the process lives were lost, families were displaced, and some, like me, lost heroes. Delancy was one of those heroes.

I had just gotten back to The Block from playing a baseball game in U. City when I got the low-down.

"Dirty, what happened down the street," I asked my cousin as I surveyed the scene. "Who got popped?"

I mean, I knew someone had gotten shot simply by peeping the spot, but I also knew The Lot had that type of history to it.

My cousin, who was just six months older than me, was running the streets with Main and my brother like most of the guys from The Block. I was still stunned when he gave me the scoop.

"Some fool blasted on Main about an hour ago," he said, casually displaying the chrome plated .32 automatic he had stashed in his hip. "They working on him right now up at Saint Louie U."

My thoughts immediately turned toward my brother. Where was he? Where is he? Did he get shot too? After all, they were ace boon coons by that time.

"Carly, cuzz, where's my brother?

"He's up at the hospital right now."

"Is he alright?"

"Yeah, dirty. He was at the mall when the shit went down, but mugs know who did it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Carly said, again brandishing the pistol. Word on the street was the trigger man was the same guy who Main had whipped on back in Juve some six years before that night. Again, that was just the word on the street, I don't know because I wasn't there.

The circumstances behind Delancy's death, no matter how harsh, aren't very important to me. The fact that he was killed so prematurely has never sat right with me and I guess this is my way of coming to grips with that. This is my shot out to the life in which he lived, per se.

I'm not going to lie; Delancy was my hero simply because he was the first person from The Block to show me there was more to the world than just The Block. I'll always treasure those memories of him in his baseball uniform, him calling me runt and definitely of him kicking me and my brother's asses at the same time. I'll never treasure the sight of seeing him laid to rest. Never. Much love to the Davis family and I miss you Main.

No Ordinary Day (Part 1) featuring Rory L. Watkins

August 1990:

Cochise and Cass had been friends for years so it was no surprise when Cochise called his buddy to let him in on the good news.

"Cass, dirty," Cochise screamed into the phone. "Guess what?"

Cass, still half-sleep, was shook up. "Who is this?" he stubbornly asked.

"This Chedda, fool," Cochise remarked.

"Chedda Chise," Cass acknowledged. "What's up, homie?"

"Man, today's my brother birthday," Cochise said excitedly, "and he's 'bout to comp a new swerve."

Cass was a bit confused at first, and then caught his wits. "Damn, today is the 23rd, ain't it? So what did he say?"

Cochise's older brother Big O.G. had told Cochise that he was buying a new car for himself on his birthday and Chise could used the 1988 Ninety-Eight Regency that Big O.G. had parked in the driveway of their mother's house. Big O.G. had never let anyone drive his Nine-Eight. Ever.

"He said I could get the keys as soon as he gets back from the car lot," Cochise exclaimed.

Cass was skeptical. "Dog, you think he jeffin'?"

Big O.G.'s Nine-Eight wasn't just a regular old Nine-Eight. It was a baller's Nine-Eight. You know the kind; custom fifty spoke Dayton wire rims, 15-inch vogue tires, laid out bumper kit and a custom sunroof to show of the plush snowflake white leather interior. Oh, I almost forgot about the JVC sound-system, with the four 6x9 speakers, crossover and amps and two fifteen inch subwoofers. The leather interior matched the candy coated paint job on the Nine-Eight’s pristine body.

"He chunked it up on the 'hood, he wasn't jeffin', Cochise replied, "so, dirty, be ready when I get there."

"When are you coming," Cass asked looking for a watch, clock or something.

"I'on know," Cochise answered, "probably around noon time."

"What time is it now," Cass wanted to know, not knowing he was setting himself up to be the punch-line of another one of Cochise's silly antics.

"Half past the monkey's ass and a quarter to his nuts," Cochise teased, right before he delivered a piece of useful advice towards Cass. "Call time fool or get a watch."

Before Cass could even muster a reply, Cochise hung up **************************************************************************

A few hours had elapsed since Cass and Cochise's conversation and Cass was getting restless. He picked up the phone to call Cochise, but was not so rudely interrupted.

"Boy, I'm on the damn phone," Cass' mother shouted from the living room of their government subsidized three-bedroom apartment, echoing through the phone wires and off the walls.

"Moms, my fault," Cass shot back, muttering damn under his breath for effect.

"Who are you talking to little boy," Moms chimed, disregarding whatever or whoever on the opposite phone line.

Cass and Moms had a understanding kind of relationship going on and he knew how to keep her off his back. For the most part that is.

"I was just saying, I'm sorry for picking up the phone," Cass explained. "But I was trying to call Chedda to see when he was coming to pick me up."

"Cochise?" Moms questioned. She was sort of dumbfounded. She knew that neither Cass nor Cochise had a car or a driver's license. "Pick you up with what, the Bi-State?"

"No." Cass corrected. "Big O.G. is giving him the Nine-Eight for the day."

"Is that right?" Moms hastily reacted. "Cochise had better not have stolen another one of his brother's cars again. And if he has, your ass is not going anywhere."

"Moms, Big O.G. is buying a new car for his birthday and he gave Chedda the keys to the Nine-Eight," Cass explained. "Everything's cool."

Just as Moms raised her hand to counter Cass' explanation, they both turned their attention to the outside front and the loud thunderous noise booming through the neighborhood. "I'ma call you back," Moms bellowed into the phone, oblivious to the caller's objection to the sudden lack of attention. "I said I'ma call you back."

The beats. Cass knew who it was.

"My homie," Cass said, opening the shades of the living room window while unlocking the front door at the same time. "Beatin' down the block, baby, beatin' down the block."

"Move," Moms shouted, shoving Cass to the side, preparing to lecture Cass' closest friend. "Bring your butt here Cochise, right now."

Moms was upset. She didn't mind Cochise coming to pick Cass up in Big O.G.'s car, but she was concerned about them flashing their newfound glory, albeit brief glory.

"O.K., Moms let me park," Cochise responded.

"Little boy," Moms admonished Cochise as strutted his way toward Cass' residence, "you don’t have to broadcast your arrival on this block. Your mere presence is sufficient enough. Do you know these guys will put a pistol to your head for hi-siding on them in their own backyard? You do know that don't you."

"Yes ma'am," Cochised admitted.

Moms usually gives it to you when she gives it to you, but Cochise had an innate ability to diffuse certain situations and he was an expert dealing with folk's parents. He was above average height, brown-skinned, mildly intelligent, street savvy and confident. Cass thought Cochise was a charming son of a gun. Cochise called it 'mad game.'

"O.K. I'ma leave it alone," Moms said, questioning Big O.G's rationale for giving Cochise the Nine-Eight.

"I have my permit already, Moms," Cochise said, giving Cass the winking eye. "But I'm 'bout to go to the license bureau right now to take my driver's test and you know I need Cass Money there with me for good luck."

"Hmmph," Moms sighed. "Boy that's a bold face lie, but oh well, if Big O.G. don't care, I surely don't. Ya'll just be careful. The police would love to take ya'll little black butts to the juve center. And guess what, Cassius? I'm not coming to get you. Good day. Get out of my house."

Once in the ride, Cass couldn't believe Big O.G. had given up the Nine-Eight, but he wasn't going to complain. "Where we headed, Chedda?" Cass asked.

"To the license bureau," Cochise stated. "Why you asked?"

"Seriously, where are we headed, homie?" Cass wanted to know.

Cochise eased up on his story. "I'on know, fool, we just gonna’ cruise the St. Louis streets, see what we see, do what we do and screw what we screw." Cass laughed. Cochise reached in the fold-down ashtray in the middle of the Nine-Eight's console and emerged with a bag full of funk. "And blow our brains back."

Cass had seen marijuana before but he had never smoked it. (Actually, when Cass was nine-years-old, his favorite uncle, Moms' brother Unc, let Cass hit a joint a couple of times, but that's another story). "What's that for?" Cass nervously responded.

"To smoke and get high," Cochise wryly replied.

"I mean, I know that, but what do we need it for?" Cass protested.

"So we can ride out, smoke out, have some fun, pick up some hoochies and do how these cats with paper do. We some ballers today, dirty, me and you. Let's do the damn thing. We got the swerve, we got the beats, we got the herb and we got this," Cochise said, cocking the chrome .380 automatic pistol he sneaked from Big O.G.'s gun collection.

"Man," Cass relented, "Moms was right. We're going to jail tonight."

"Dirty, we good," Cochise retorted. "As long as I got the wheel, we straight, so roll up."

"I don't know how to roll that stuff, dog, you tripping," Cass rebuffed.

"Ole' cry-baby, titty-licking, mama's boy, can't do nothin'," Cochise teased. "I'll roll it myself."

"Yeah, you do that," Cass said.

"I will," Cochise countered.

"Fine," Cass stood firm. "I still ain't smoking it."

"Yes you are," Cochise demanded.

"No, I'm not," Cass offered.

Cochise was getting aggravated by Cass' resistance so he turned the car's stereo system back to full blast, put the car in drive and peeled off.

"You smoking today," he said, ignoring Cass' pleas. Cochise emphasized his position by burning tire rubber on the neighborhood's black-tar asphalt while at the corner stop sign. "Yep, you getting blowed today, dirty, so don't even trip."

A Mighty Fine Introduction

I love my girlfriend. My ex-girlfriend I should say. She dumped me about four months ago when she found out I had a three-month fling with a college freshman named Tiarra Brown. Man, was Tiarra hot. I'm talking about she was just tall enough where her head could rest on my shoulders when we slowed danced. (We only slowed danced in private though because she was sort of my little secret, if you will.) She had those big brown eyes that you knew she had when she was about six months old; wide and cuddly. That's how she used to look at me when we danced too, like a cute little baby doll whose string was drawn. She had that cocoa brown skin and the softest, sweetest lips. Us men are always talking about lips on women, but I'm telling you, her lips were soft, damp and tasted like honey.

Anyhow, like I was saying, I really do love my ex-girlfriend. Now she has the beauty, the brains and the body that make guys label their girl's nines and tens. Plus she is super nice and respectful. DeDe--that's her name---is one of those slim and trim broads with the long legs that drive fools crazy. When she puts on heels, I swear we're at even keel. Her skin tone is tan brown like mine and she has the loveliest smile I've seen in all my years. I can just picture the day we met. It was at the university's welcoming bar-b-que her freshmen year and I remember mentioning to a close friend of mine how I thought she was cute and had mega potential. My friend kind of tooted his nose up and was like, "naw, Cass, leave that fresh-meat alone." I was smitten by her presence, though. Outdone to say the least and I knew I had to have her in my life.

Although I politely introduced myself to her and invited her to the football team's scrimmage later that evening, we didn't quite hit it off at first. Of course she used the 'I have a boyfriend' routine, but it was a shock to learn he was still a high-school student. Even though I respected her mind on that one, I knew their relationship would be a temporary arrangement. Can't no high-school kid touch me, I thought.

"That's fine, I'll just see you around campus then," I replied when she delivered the news of her commitment.

I don't know if my little gentleman speech worked or not but I do know DeDe became a little fond of me and made it a point to speak whenever we past by each other on campus. After a few months, that semester seemed to move along at a snail's pace and I was getting antsy for the Christmas break. Anyway, the football squad was doing a little holiday community service deal for the locals, so a couple of teammates and I were running around campus collecting can goods from the students in the dorms. Midway through our rounds, I bumped into DeDe and the first thought in my corrupted mind was "do you still have your little boyfriend?" Instead, I bellowed "hello, DeDe. Remember me?"

"How could I forget, I only speak to you every other time I see you," she playfully replied.

"Yeah, but do you remember my name?" I countered, placing the donated cans from DeDe's room into the hefty bag.

"How could I forget a name like Cassius Clay Winston," she asked. "Err, excuse me, Cass Money Winston, Mr. football star."

I was astonished. "So you know about me, huh?" I said inquisitively.

"I've heard stories," she responded

I was in full throttle by then, though.

"Well, why don't you give me your number, so I can tell you if those stories are true or not."

"Like that?" she retorted.

"Like that," I deadpanned.

After a few more pleasantries, we exchanged phone numbers and I knew it was on. Man, hard to believe that was four years ago.

Speaking of four years, DeDe is on track to graduate in May, four years after she enrolled. Now, to me, that is an unbelievable accomplishment considering the things she had to go through during our often tumultuous relationship. See, that's why I say I love her because of all the soap-opera drama she's had to endure fooling around with me during her collegiate experience.

First it was my old friend Eriana, who I had met a year prior to meeting DeDe. Eriana and I had freaked each other, but we never had sex. I put DeDe abreast of the brief encounter, but she had a hard time believing Eriana and I didn't have sex. She really became suspicious when Eriana tried to fight her.

"DeDe, I didn't have sex with that girl," I told her after Eriana and a few of Eriana's friends became overtly obsessive with pummeling my baby. "She's just mad 'cause I won't leave you for her."

"Yeah right," was the only thing DeDe could muster out of her mouth.

Then there was Keena. DeDe told me Keena had been her best friend from seventh grade up until high school graduation. Kenna first went to college down south, but transferred to our school before the start of DeDe's sophomore year. She said she relocated closer to home because she missed DeDe too much. My guess she was wound too tight to fit in down south.

Keena and I started off cool. After all, she was my lady's best friend and they roomed together Keena's transfer year so I felt obligated to keep the peace. I mean, I had to show her love out of respect for DeDe, but I did think she was cool.

I don't know what happened with their friendship. It seemed so genuine and sincere that I never would have thought I would be the source of the tension. For whatever reason Keena didn't take to me and when DeDe refused to dump me, their relationship hit the skids. It actually came to the point that Keena and I had a verbal confrontation. It happened during an argument DeDe and I was having in their dorm room about some telephone numbers she had found in my Nautica Jeans' pocket.

"Look, DeDe, I done told you a thousand times, these numbers don't mean nothing," I protested upon learning DeDe's discontent. "People slide their numbers to me, I take them and throw them away. Honestly, I just forgot to throw those in the trash."

"Oh yeah," DeDe shot back, ripping the numbers in half. "Then let me help you with that."

I was peeved. Another heated argument followed and then boom, Keena spoke her piece.

"Get out!" Keena exploded. "I'm tired of you making my girl cry all the damn time. Get out of here and don't come back."

Naturally, I was stunned. Not only did Keena jump full-bore into our disagreement, she had the audacity to put her hands on me trying to escort me out the door. I held firm, looked at DeDe, looked back at Keena, then lost my composure.

"B****," I said aggressively, "don't you ever put your hands on me again." At that point, Keena was hysterical and DeDe was silenced. DeDe knew I had an ugly side, but I think she was disappointed that I would show it to her best friend.

"B****? B****?" Keena responded, literally bouncing off walls because I called her a name. "Oh, yeah? You get the hell out of here right now!" Keena picked up the phone. I thought maybe she was calling some of her campus henchmen, but she did me one better.

"Hello, Public Safety," Keena screamed into the phone, "we have a problem in room..." Anything she said after that is a blur because I was out of there quicker than greased lighting.

A couple of hours had past before DeDe and I spoke on the situation and by that time Keena had called public safety, her mother, father, brother, cousin and boyfriend. She even had the nerve to call my girl's parents. Boy did it take some damage control to keep DeDe's parents from throwing a hizzy-fit.

Keena was a nuisance to me after that encounter and became a hindrance on my baby's love-nest. Suffice to say, they eventually fell out and when the smoke cleared DeDe was still in my world, down like four flat ones.

We made it through DeDe's junior year pretty much unscathed, but this year could be classified a sure-shot disaster.

Like I was saying earlier, the only reason DeDe's not my girl anymore is because of my fling with Tiarra. My purpose with Tiarra wasn't supposed to go down the way it did. Just so happened, we had a communications class together last semester; Foundations of Broadcasting (she for the first time, I for the second). One day the professor assigned the class a group project, forcing us to partner up with someone we didn't know. Why did destiny pull me towards Tiarra? I damn near fell on my face trying to scrunch into the seat next to Tiarra's desk.

"I'on know you," I confidently noted, gazing into those amazing eyes. Like deja vu all over again, I introduced myself. "My name is Cassius Clay Winston and we're partners today."

She intently looked up from her notebook, and lovingly quipped "that's fine."

And thus, my current predicament.

From the short story collection

The Swinging Gate featuring Rory L. Watkins

Cassius Clay Winston circa 1985:

Yesterday was a strange day. Even though it was strange, it was kinda fun. It was the first day of the new school year and I was going to a new school, Eureka Elementary. I woke up yesterday morning at five o'clock, but I wasn't mad or tired or nothing. I was excited and could not wait to catch the bus at six. My mother Moms was up with me and my big brother Sonnie. As you can tell Moms is a BIG boxing fan.

Anyways, like I was saying, me and Sonnie woke up, took our wash up, brushed our teeth, and ironed our clothes. Moms took us school school shopping Saturday, so we were trying to be nice and clean for the new kids we didn't know. Sonnie was funny. He was the reason why we couldn't go to Columbia Middle School. He kept saying yesterday to Moms "I'on wanna go to that white school, I'on wanna go to that white school." I was thinking 'fool, you the reason we going to that white school.'

See, we used to live on the Southside of The City and had seen a few white people, but our neighborhood was all black. Then we moved to the JVL. The Jeff Vanderlou projects that is. The JVL is on the Northside of The City and we have been having problems with the JVL Posse. I'on know why they don't like us, but they don't. Them cats look very scary. Sonnie wants to take 'em all on and I'm like 'they cool, they ain't said nothing to me.'

See, Sonnie went to Columbia Middle last year and I went to Dunbar Elementary and me and some of those JVL guys were real good friends. And I know for a fact they were in the JVL posse. But Sonnie got into it with one of them cats on the last day of school and they been looking for him all summer long. He stayed with my grandmother Grandma on the Southside all summer so they haven't caught him yet.

Moms knew some of the people in the neighborhood and they told her the JVL Posse was looking for Sonnie so she made us transfer schools out to the county. I was mad at first because I wanted to go to Columbia. People was saying how much fun it was. I guess I'll never know.

So, anyways, when me and Sonnie got to the bus stop yesterday I saw some of my friends from Dunbar on their way to Columbia and they were looking at us crazy and mean. I just saw them cats a week ago and we played cork ball together on the Church lot and everything was cool, so when I saw them I was like 'what's up, Darius, Marcus, Baby?' and they just looked and stared. Sonnie just stared back, grabbed me by the back of the neck and said "C'mon little brother, I got you."

I really don't know what happend between my brother and my friends but I get the feeling Sonnie don't like them cats too much. I was really glad when our bus came, because Darius 'nem was tripping off me and my brother's new shoes Moms had got us at the mall Saturday and I thought we was gonna have to fight. And man, I hate fighting. I just wanna play ball and live good like Ozzie, Vince and Willie.

The morning kept getting weirder. The bus pulled up and the busdriver asked me for my bus pass. He looked at it and said "Wrong, bus little guy, you have to wait on the other bus." I was like "what other bus?" "The one that says Eureka Elementary, this bus here is for the junior and senior highs." I looked at Sonnie, Sonnie looked at me and we both looked at Darius 'nem. "You'll be alright little brother, they yo' partners right?"

Sonnie got on the bus. I wasn't scared but I was. Darius, Marcus and Baby had always been cool with me but they hated my brother, so I was kinda nervous. They just started asking all sort of questions out of the clear blue sky "Why ya'll ain't going to Columbia, Cass? Where you get them shoes at Cass? Where dat 'foxy momma of yours at, Cass?" And then the bus came.