Gangster Factory
There’s nothing special about youth gangs, certainly not unique to urban America, they provide their members a certain degree of order, solidarity and sometimes economic gain for their members.
They’ve been around for centuries, as early as the 1600’s London was terrorized by organized gangs with names like the Mims, Hectors, Bugles and the Dead Boys…
Possibly the oldest structured criminal gangs are the Hong Kong based Triads, that have evolved from secret societies organized in the 17th century to overthrow the Manchu Ching Dynasty to well developed business and family tied gangs of the 21st century.
A historian of New York City wrote; “By 1855 it was estimated that the metropolis contained at least 30,000 men who owed allegiance to gang leaders…”
That brings us to Naptown, also known as Indianapolis.
Organized crime and gangs are not new to Indianapolis, dating back to the Prohibition era of the 1920’s, when associates of Al Capone and other Chicago mobsters smuggled bootleg liquor through the city.
Prominent Indianapolis gangs were well established back in the 1970’s and 1980’s such as the Ghetto Boys, Folk Nation, New Breed… and the so-called nursery school gangs for white supremacist groups like the Aryan Brotherhood… and other gangs like Black Guerilla Family.
Then there’s the Simon City Royals, one of the oldest and largest white gangs in the U.S.
It’s the same ol’ story for many of the kids who end up in a gang… dropping out of school, abusing drugs and alcohol, petty crimes gradually becoming more, getting arrested by the police over & over until finally that fateful day of being incarcerated into one of the many “training schools” of juvenile detention centers to be reformed… torture chambers for poor black and white delinquents.
The Royals were one of the largest and most violent of all the street gangs in Chicago by the 1970’s, when they joined the Folk Nation alliance with the Black Gangster Disciples… but when their leadership got locked up…
the strength shifted to prisons for juveniles… like the Indiana Boys School, located in Plainfield, Indiana, outside of Indianapolis.
The brand spread throughout the detention centers and prisons like a wildfire, recruiting juveniles at an alarming rate… join or die was their marketing campaign.
The Plainfield Juvenile Correctional facility as it is officially known began in 1867 as the House of Refuge for Juvenile Offenders until it was re-branded in 1903 as simply Indiana Boys School (IBS)… in 1949 it was the home of the young psychopath, Charles Manson, age 13… at least until he escaped. Then Hollywood came knocking and filmed “Johnny Holiday” starring William Bendix, Stanley Clements & Hoagy Carmichael… along with some unknown inmates… heck maybe even Charlie boy himself played as extra in it. the crime film directed by Willis Goldbeck, is about a young boy, Johnny Holiday, who gets talked into robbing a drugstore then gets arrested and shipped off to Indiana Boys School to be reformed, all the while his old gang leader tries to keep from going on the straight and narrow.
Long gone are the bucolic days of reform that IBS once offered as portrayed in the movies like Johnny Holiday.
As the 1979 calendar pages fell away… Roman Bayley stared out over the fields surrounding the buildings on the 1300 acre state run prison for children, Roman had only been there a few months but what he saw going on around him, made him sick to his stomach. The weak are meat for the strong and they will feast…
The children incarcerated ranged from ten to eighteen years old… and sometimes nineteen depending on whether or not space was available across the road at the state penitentiary … if the inmate was to be immediately interned to the adult prison upon his eighteenth birthday.
That eight to nine years age difference is a colossal gap for boys of that age…
Roman knew he was lucky in a sense… one thing, he was sixteen, closer to the top of the food chain as far as size and experience are concerned. He knew how to handle himself and was no stranger to fighting dirty… but more importantly, his reputation or street cred carried a lot of weight in a place like IBS. The house managers, as they were called, the men that guarded the boys from sunup to sundown in their respective buildings, their dorms, knew all about Roman from his juvenile file the courts had sent.
Armed robbery in the first degree… assault with a deadly weapon… escape… grand theft auto. That somehow Roman had evaded being tried as an adult at sixteen and been sent straight to the big house to play with the big boys was a small miracle. All thanks to Mora and John, that file or record worked like his magic cape in the sense it gave him protection from the other animals inside that otherwise he would have had to earn the hard way.
Day after day, Roman witnessed the less fortunate fall victim as prey to the older and more violent and twisted boys inside their dorms. Somehow, Roman had managed to avoid being initiated into one of the many gangs, like the Simon City Royals as soon as his foot stepped inside the threshold of the building. Roman’s thoughts were that they were just taking more time to evaluate him based on his past, his history of violent crime caused them pause for concern… no one in the top echelon of any gang wanted to unwittingly let a wolf inside their henhouse possibly losing their own position in the gang… it happened more often than not, some interloper, became initiated into a gang only to shift the balance of power by violently overthrowing the leader to become the new king… just another coup… lord of the flies reigns eternal.
Of course Roman saw what happened to the younger boys, how they were recruited and then forced to perform sexual favors for the gang leader and his top lieutenants. Eventually they were put into prostitution and pimped out to other gangs… and sometimes house managers. It was well known amongst the incarcerated which house managers preferred the company of shorties, as the young boys were called, and in the exchange for a night spent alone the respective gangs were given much leeway in their criminal enterprises, sometimes the managers used the gangs as muscle to keep the peace and order in their dorms whenever some lone ranger decided he’d had enough of the rules and wasn’t going to play the game anymore. The kid would be beaten into submission or worse… but the house continued to operate like a smooth machine.
In 1974, Just a couple of years before Roman had arrived, Charles Murphy, a 14 yr old kid had been convicted of committing three robberies and two rapes and was being held at IBS until his 20th birthday.
In 1975, one third of the population of 500 boys had committed rape, burglary or assault… as a result, IBS instituted a “strong treatment program” for violent offenders that provided psychiatric care… shock treatments and powerful medications like Thorazine, a anti-psychotic drug to keep the more violent offenders in line.
Another study reported that the 1970’s “gang crime was more lethal than anytime in history; more people were shot, stabbed, and beaten to death in gang-related incidents than during any previous decade. The glory days of gang warfare and Roman was smack dab right in the middle of all of it.
After Roman had completed his physical and mental evaluations he was under the impression that he was allowed to chose what job he worked or activity he would participate in… wrong. The admin replied. You’re decision-making days are over the middle-aged man had told him… “isn’t that whats got you in here in the first place he said. From here on out, we’ll be telling you what you’ll be doing, every minute of the day, understood? Roman nodded.
They had assigned him to the barber shop.
“But… I don’t know how to cut hair…” Roman began to protest.
“They’ll show you, you don’t have to worry bout that.”
“First half of the day you’ll work there… the other half, you’ll be in school.”
“but I don’t have to go to school,” Roman retorted with a smirk. “I’m sixteen.”
The Admin just stared at Roman. “Everyone goes to school unless they have their G.E.D. do you have your GED? No? Then it’s settled Mr. knowitall. Would you rather work on the farm? A little manual labor under the summer sun sound good does it? Or better yet yet, how about the brickyard? Spend your days covered in red claydirt making bricks by hand for four hours a day? No? Maybe the tailor shop would be a good fit… sewing all day making those wonderful blue uniforms you’ll be wearing? Or cobbling the state issued shoes with new soles is more your liking? It don’t matter. There’s a hole to fill in the barber shop and you’re gonna fill it.
And so it went just like he said…
Mon. through Fri. the lights came on at five thirty every morning with an ear splitting siren wailing through the air.
There was approx.. 35 boys in each dorm building that hurriedly got dressed and lined up outside on the sidewalk in front for the count.
The were sixteen dorm buildings at IBS, a cafeteria or chow hall as it was called, a church, several barn type structures, the barber shop next door to the school, a warehouse next door to the tailor shop, a brick foundry building with a furnace on one side and the farm took up the rest.
After the count, the house managers would march the boys in lines like in the military around the circle or quad until it was time for that dorm to go to the chow hall. Sometimes they would march straight over and sometimes they’d march for an hour around and around the quad until the house managers two-way radio crackled and they were given the greenlight to proceed to the entrance for their meals. When the weather was nice, it was no big deal as far as Roman was concerned, he didn’t mind the marching, the rhythmic cadence allowed his mind to wander and he could daydream about Angie… what would she be doing at that time… or fishing on the back of his uncles boat down in Florida as the gentle breeze kissed his sun bleached hair… but Roman found it was much harder to teleport his mind far away when the cold rain pelted his face and he was soaked to the bone… his state issued blue mechanic clothes were no match for the cold freezing Indiana winters, their black pea coats and toboggan hats weren’t thick enough to ward off the windchill, easily slicing through the thin material while freezing temperatures turned his feet into blocks of ice inside the tailor shop made state shoes.
Breakfast was a dismal affair, fifteen minutes to gobble down the powdered eggs and oatmeal that resembled the gruel of London orphanages in Roman’s opinion. Half the time the milk was spoiled or frozen… the juice tasted like window cleaner and the bread stale and molded.
Then back out to the quad for another round of marching before going back to the dorm and either getting ready for school or work depending on one’s schedule.
Roman had the morning work shift at the barber shop, then GED classes after lunch.
The four hours of clipper training, haircutting techniques with scissors and proper sterilization techniques for the tools went by in a blur… the barber shop was clean as a whistle, spic n span. Each of the eight chairs had two boys that worked that station, one novice, the trainee, and one experienced kid already certified to be a barber as the trainer. Six of the chairs were dominated by black boys that only cut black kids hair, the other two chairs were operated by white boys and two Mexicans… a real united nations feel to the joint, Roman thought.
Roman’s trainer was a kid from Terre Haute, Indiana, Cooper was a year older than Roman and had jet black hair slicked back like some Italian gangster in the movies, Roman thought he looked ridiculous but kept that thought to himself.
He was there for multiple burglaries and petty stuff like shoplifting… Roman could sense that Cooper was wary of him by the way he acted around him, never joking around or crackin wise… more than likely due to Roman’s charges than Roman himself. The one day Cooper pulled a straight-edge razor from a locked drawer and turned to Roman.
“You know what this is for?” Cooper asked.
“Roman nodded, not quiet sure if Cooper was going try to use it on him or what.
“Time for you to learn how to give a shave with it, Coop said.
“So we can’t have a pocket-knife on us… but no problem giving us straight-edge razors…?” Roman said with a sly grin.
Just to use, no giving shit here… Cooper continued and began to show Roman the proper technique of a great clean shave.
Roman completed his required GED classes in record time, eager to have the exam behind him. As he stared at the GED certificate he thought of his old classmates in high school and wondered what they were doing, all the high school activities that he had missed out on by dropping out, the dances… the girls never kissed… the parties… all of the things he’d never experience due to his poor decision making, one stupid mistake after another… if a thousand mile journey begins with one step… then after his beginning misteps where is he going roman pondered. He slipped the paper into a folder and closed the locker door… what was the point of thinking about all that now he told himself, the train had already left the station and here he was in Plainfield… no point in crying about it now… losing sleep over shit he had no control over now.
Roman turned to his chair and motioned for his next customer to take a seat.
The barber shop was a lot like jr high as far as roman was concerned… he was the token white boy yet again. That didn’t bother him… he had learned how to handle himself in these familiar environments after all these years… he felt that he had aged a lifetime since getting suspended for fighting Yolanda in the seventh grade… going home early only to discover his father, rev. rob in bed with another man… exiled to florida… the Texaco star… so much water under the bridge… like another lifetime ago.
There was plenty of shit-talkin to go around in the barber shop. Same ol game of the dozens… except now the kids were a little older, and a lot meaner.
Roman had avoided the gang inductions up to this point and he had no plans to join up. He went to work… took GED classes… and kept to himself. For the most part Roman had few run ins with gang members… until he did.
When the new arrivals showed up it always caused the other kids to become restless, there was an air of nervous energy that would permeate the whole dorm… new challengers to the throne, maybe a new king of the hill would show up… new meat for the predators to feast upon. Roman rarely became involved in all the fanfare that surrounded the new kids showing up… except this once.
Roman was at his chair sweeping up the hair off the floor from his last customer… are they still called customers if no money is exchanged Roman wondered.
When this small boy who looked to be 6 or 7 years old climbed up on the chair and sat down.
“Hey…” Roman said like he always did as he threw the cape over the kids head and clipped the back of it snug around his small neck.
The kid said nothing. He stared straight ahead looking at the wall.
Roman pulled out his clippers and started to go to work shaving the blond locks from his head. Standard procedure for newbies.
“How old are you?” Roman couldn’t help but ask.
“Ten…” came the soft voice almost a whisper, from this little wisp of a boy.
“Cool… well this is what you get for your first cut… next time you can let me know how you like it ok?” Roman replied trying to ease the kids mind.
“alright.” Said the kid.
There was something about him that pulled at Roman but he couldn’t put his finger on it… it wasn’t like this was the first 10 yr old that sat in his chair… normally Roman just shaved their little heads and didn’t think twice about their looming fate out on the yard or in some dark corner of the dorms… life is a jungle and all that. Lord knows, he had plenty to deal with all by himself than worry bout what happens to every little shit that passed through the shop.
Roman laughed out loud surprising himself.
“What…?” the kid asked.
“Oh nothing, I just remembered something, who you reminded me of.” Roman said.
“Oh…” was all the kid said.
Roman’s mind was instantly filled with images and memories of a little boy named David… from when his folks had become foster parents… which Roman never understood why… as if their family was so squared away they should take on more kids? Never made sense to Roman.
David was like three years old going on four when he had arrived at their home. He didn’t know how to speak, just pointed at things he wanted and made these funky sounds.
“He wants some water,” Roman told Mora… “I know he does, she said but he’s old enough to learn how to say it, not just point and bark like some dog, she insisted.
David followed Roman everywhere he went, like a puppy.
In the beginning Roman hated him, always right there under foot whenever he turned around it seemed… pointing at this and that unable to form the simplest words. Roman even pushed him down a few times making David cry, which he felt bad afterwards.
Until the afternoon he taught David to say the word “yes”… then it became a game of sorts… which word could he teach him to say next… “water”…. “no” amazing how much he used that word! Hungry, sleepy, outside, play ball…. His vocabulary started to explode and Roman couldn’t have been more proud. He even started to think of David as his little brother and enjoyed taking him to the park and play.
Roman never gave much thought to the technicalities of foster-care, the ends and outs, he just loved having a little brother who thought the sun shined outta his ass and that’s all he worried about.
Until the day walking home from school Roman noticed a black sedan parked out front of their house… he saw two adults, a man and a woman holding his little brother kicking and screaming in their arms and putting David in the back of the sedan. Roman dropped his books and started to run as fast as he could to him. But it was too late… the sedan pulled away from the curb as David stood on the back seat frantically waving his little arms and crying out for Roman. Roman saw the look of terror on his face as his tears streamed down and then the car was gone. Roman stopped running and winded, bent over panting trying to catch his breath, his mind in a turmoil, what had just happened?
He ran into the house yelling for Mora and Rev. Rob… what had happened? Where were they taking him?
Mora tried to explain that they were just temporary placement for David, just until his real mother and father could care for him… like babysitting… just a little longer.
“A little babysitting? It’s been like a year!” Roman wailed at Mora, not comprehending the situation.
Rob explained that David’s biological mother was out of rehab for drug addiction and wanted to have her son back… even though the father was still in jail… the courts had decided that’s what would be best.
“Be best?” Roman was furious at them. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing… that little snot-nosed kid that came into his life a year ago he had taken under his wing and taught to speak, play ball, climb trees… that he had loved as his own brother… had just been ripped out of his life and his parents were all like that was the plan all along son… don’t ya get it?
“Fuck you!” Roman screamed and ran into his bedroom, slamming the door. He buried his face in his pillow and cried as hard as he could ever remember. Why? Why? Was all he kept asking himself. Why would they bring him into their home, and let Roman pretend he was his little brother, open up his heart to this little runt only to have him ripped away with no warning? Here ya go son, fall in love with this puppy… so we can take him away once you’ve bonded good and tight… Roman fell into a deep depression after that, never truly forgave Mora and Rob for what they had done, no matter how good their intentions had been… it had cut Roman down to the bone and it would be a long while for that scar to heal.
It took another foster kid that almost burnt their house to the ground before Mora and Rob got outta the foster family business much to Roman’s wishes. He didn’t think his heart could take it.
Now Roman stared at the back of this little boys head and saw David all over again.
“I’m Roman… what’s your name?” Roman asked.
“Ari… A-R-I” the kid spelled it out.
“Is that short for something…?” Roman asked not familiar with that name until now.
“Nope, just Ari… as far as I know.”
Roman finished up and as he brushed Ari’s hair from his shoulders he filled him in on some of the do’s and don’t of making it there.
Try and stay outta the gangs if at all possible…
Don’t talk shit to anyone…
Keep to yourself, reading books, drawing something like that.
If it doesn’t belong to you, don’t touch it.
For your own safety, take a shower only if you have to… and with someone who’s got your back, just be careful and don’t go down into the showers alone. That’s all I got for ya kid… be safe… and get outta my chair.
“Next…” Roman called out as Ari hopped down and turned to stare at Roman, not quite sure what to make out of him.
Over the course of the next several months Roman found himself increasingly accompanied by Ari, now his shadow for all intents and purposes. In the beginning Roman was happy enough just to share some sage advice to the little punk, maybe it’ll keep him from falling into the same traps as so many of the younger boys… gang initiations and prostitution was par for the course if they didn’t have someone older and bigger to protect them… especially from the real predators… the house managers that liked the little ones.
Day after day, week after week, Roman found himself talking to Ari more and more… hanging out after classes and work together. Roman knew full well he was sliding right back down the same road of affection that he had shared with David years earlier but he couldn’t stop himself from growing fond of the little fucker… even knowing somewhere in the back of his head it would all end up somehow in a shit show of pain. IBS was a lonely, cold unforgiving environment… and Roman had no one to talk to since Angie had stopped visiting or returning his letters. Mora had tried to get her to come with her several times for a visit until Angie’s father had to intervene and put a stop to her efforts. I won’t allow it, Angie’s father had told Mora and then they had moved away Mora told Roman the last time she was there, I think he said Florida… of course they did Roman thought.
So when Roman noticed a gang leader talking to Ari with his arm wrapped around his shoulders he knew he was about to kick a flamin bag of shit wide open when he pulled Ari away and told the gang leader to basically fuck off… to leave this one alone it was going to bite Roman in the ass but he didn’t care… Ari wasn’t going to fall prey as long as Roman had anything to do about it.
Like I mentioned before, the few things that kept Roman from becoming a statistic was the fact he was almost seventeen and his street cred, his rap sheet… being charged with armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon, that he had pistol-whipped a grown man to the ground during a holdup… flamed the fires of gossip all around the IBS and as far as Roman was concerned, let them believe whatever they wanted as long as it gave him an additional layer of security he was fine with that.
But Ari had no security… except for Roman. Ari had a string of shoplifting charges, school truancy and minor infractions as far as Roman had heard… basically a good kid from a broken home and no one had taken him under their wing as a mentor to keep him out of trouble. Hundreds, if not thousands of kids just like Ari end up at Boy’s school all over the country just like IBS that come in naïve and innocent and leave cold and hardened criminals… the gangster factory Roman once told Ari is all it was.