Old Gangsters & Young Guns: The True Tales of Two Worlds


Old Gangsters & Young Guns: The True Tales of Two Worlds

Body of Power publishing LLC

2020 Howell Mill Rd. NW

Suite C-183


Atlanta, GA


30318

Copyright © 2015

ISBN: 978-1-329-00110-7

From The Author

This book is the result of a project I began writing in 2003, when my fledgling magazine Don Diva, my first ever legitimate endeavor, was still gaining ground. After many years of tweaking and tinkering it is finally ready to be received. I trust you will all be informed as well as entertained.

–Cavario H. AKA BoPp The Hustler

Written By Cavario H.


Edited By Cavario H. & Zada Atun

Production Assistance from Kevin KT Thomas

Back cover photo By D. Byron

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my mother Vivian without whom I would be nothing.  And to my children and their children through whom I have everything.

Body of Power publishing PRESENTS:

Old Gangsters & Young Guns–The True Tales of Two Worlds

Introduction

From as early as the 1930s the Fedora has been a trademark worn in every city by gangsters of all backgrounds and distinctions. Whether worn low over the eyes, casting a shadow over the mirrors into their motives, or cocked ace-deuce (to one side) leaving one eye spying from beneath a razor-edged brim, the Fedora G’s power was understated but certain. To this day, one can still see some Old Gangsters or OGs, now almost undetectable, having turned their negatives into positives, as they move quietly but distinguished, through society’s backdrop…their Fedoras worn just so.

The Young Guns often called YGs of today are a great deal less illustrious and care nothing about discretion, and their undaunted flash and brutal approach to the paper chase is often violent and unrelenting. As a result of such practices few YGs ever see OG status. The average life expectancy of today’s self-proclaimed gangstas is twenty years -give or take a few. During that very short existence they attempt to squeeze in a lifetime of excess and no rest, believing that they will inevitably meet an early demise or trade their government names for government numbers, and therefore caution has no point or purpose in their narrow minds.

A gangster is considered old at a relatively young age, the reason being that our lives are measured by a scale similar to that of ‘man’s best friend’. If, as was my case, an individual embarks upon his career just as he enters his teenage years, and he manages to remain continuously and progressively ensconced in that existence, by the time he’s 25 he is regarded as old, after all, 12 X 7 is 84.

Although a well experienced ‘G’, who has managed to survive a dozen years within the moral paradox that is gangsterism, may have existed in the world for a mere quarter of a century, his time in the underworld where time is expedited exponentially, will, if he pays close attention, afford him the knowledge, wisdom and overstanding of the worst of human nature. This, by the way, is what gives us our distinct glare; we know what lurks in the hearts of men. But the true trick is not simply coming out of it alive, healthy and free, but coming out of it at all.

Coming out of it or not, those of us who have lived to hear mainstream folk utilizing the expression O.G. (which by my qualified account, initially pertained only to the Original Gangsters of the late 1800s on up to approximately the mid 1900s) in their common vernacular, accept that the majority of them do not know what its real meaning is. Nonetheless, we recognize that the reverence attached to the tag is kin to its origins. In other words, it’s close enough to be appreciated by those very few of Us to whom it applies. To Us, however its contemporary application is perceived almost automatically. We know we are not original gangsters– we accept that. But regardless of how youthful we may appear, we are by virtue of our being, Old Gangsters.

Balancing the burden…

Each time an issue of Don Diva would hit the streets, an awkward silence often loomed throughout our offices. We worked tirelessly to grind out each issue, digging into the delicate past, checking facts against extraordinary claims and the ever expanding urban legend of ghetto celebs’, and then, with almost bated breath, we awaited the reaction from the streets. Neither the subjects themselves nor people on the periphery could truly gauge the explosive potential that the resurfacing or revelation of this information might bring about.

Within the Don Diva hierarchy, we were left to wonder whether what was forthcoming would be something the streets would respect as the gospel on the particular situation or would they rebel against the righteous light of fact versus their fantasies. Sometimes in allowing the primaries in some of the broadest criminal conspiracies of the 80s and 90s to speak with their own voices, it was revealed that someone who may have been revered as a stand-up gangster, was, in light of the worse case scenario coming to full fruition, nothing more than an expensively dressed, high-profile punk.

In some cases the subjects of our stories may have wondered if they had done the right thing for the right reasons or had they placed their comrades–some of which who were still on the street, some even still in the struggle—in potential jeopardy, often leaving their people to ponder the same as they rushed to the newsstands to see what was said.

The calmest quiet came before what always had the potential to become a shit storm of rekindled beef, and a new string of violent retribution killings stemming from the impending reopening of old but far from forgotten wounds. The homies, relatives and even spouses of individuals betrayed or slain in the culmination of these urban epics sometimes are reminded of who did what to whom. In some cases the off-spring of one time comrades, turned mortal enemies, were living in the same neighborhood; as in the case of Pete The Pistol Rollack, leader of the notorious murder-for-hire gang, Sex, Money & Murder Incorporated and his former friend Yaro Pack whose adolescent sons once found themselves face to face while riding in the same elevator in the Soundview projects in the Bronx that their fathers grew up in.

Although there is merit in the subsequent education that results from sharing their stories, particularly for the youth, there is still a precarious balance between informing and inciting a new generation of street soldiers. This was Don Diva’s charge, we wore it with honor and we executed it with care. WELCOME TO THE HOOD.

The accidental birth of a brand called Don Diva

The Don Diva brand was first introduced on the streets of Harlem, New York in the winter of 1999 and in just a few short years it spread across hood, city and state lines. Even the Atlantic Ocean wasn’t a great enough barrier to impede its growth or deter its destiny to become the voice of the entire urban community the world over.

The creation of Don Diva itself was an accident, meaning it wasn’t the deliberate intent of any of us to create a magazine. It started out as a nameless entertainment endeavor with film and music aspirations (as the first logo clearly indicated). The seed was planted when Tiffany Maughn, my by then ex-long-term-live-in girlfriend, began working for an older Jamaican gentleman named Tyrone whom she’d met through a lieutenant of his named Paul. Tiffany and Paul had gotten close and it was during this time she managed to convince Paul that she was the mastermind behind the then brand new label Ruff Ryders. She was operating under Darren Dean as, among other things, a road manager for the LOX. Having been impressed by Tiffany’s apparent competence, Paul asked her if, after Darren was done with her, she’d be interested in helping him get his boss’s independent record label in running order. Shortly afterwards she moved on and was introduced to the clandestine Tyrone, after which she cut Paul loose and shucked and jived her way into the boss’s good graces.

Almost immediately she found herself running Tyrone’s Harp Promotions out of a comfortable but modest office on North Avenue in New Rochelle. The rap faction, Git Down Records, seemed to be run more like a sideline than a main business and as it turned out, it was. According to the Federal Government, Tyrone’s main interest and source of income was large-scale marijuana importation and distribution.

Prior to Tyrone’s arrest Tiffany had become a Den mother of sorts to the various acts he had signed to his label–Martin actress Tischa Campbell’s younger brother was one of those acts. Tiffany often complained about how undisciplined and irresponsible the artists were and although she didn’t particularly believe that any of them were going anywhere in terms of industry success, she did see there was a need for management. She began to plot her next move, as it was her nature to do.

When she started considering names for her new company, which she intended to operate as an extension of Harp, she wanted to create a name that would stand out. When she called me from the North Avenue office I suggested that she adapt the nickname that had been given to her by the Ruff Ryders, How about Tiflon? I suggested. Nah, I want something less personal, she said. The Tiflon Don was the entire moniker so I continued to pull from that, What about The Don? I said next. As we were having this conversation over the phone’s speaker box, in walks a sexy young African girl who was signed to Tyrone’s label, her stage name was Bonnie-Clyde and she interjected, What about the divas you gotta include the ladies. I responded to Bonnie’s suggestion, Okay, what about using both, Don and Diva? Tiffany seemed to like the idea. So with the name of her new company established, Don Diva Entertainment, she now had to come up with a way to introduce it to the world.

Meanwhile, I contacted a young man named Wayne who lived in Washington, D.C. and worked for B.E.T. in the graphics department for their news division. Wayne had been sidelining as a graphic artist and was already assisting in getting my S.O.B.E.R. clothing brand developed.

When I got well into my autobiographical manuscript (Raised By Wolves: Inside the Life & Mind of A Guerrilla Hustler) I hired Wayne to help me create the first draft of my cover. Wayne was the only graphic artist that I knew so when Tiffany told me that we needed a logo I immediately called him. Tiffany and I talked about what Don Diva Entertainment would do and what services it would provide– which were artist management and development as well as music and film production. I mentioned these details to Wayne and he sent me back an image that included these elements: the ‘D’ in Don was half of a CD while the ‘D’ in Diva was half of a film reel. The word entertainment was placed going upward along the bottom of the film reel. Finally there was a strip of film that flowed from the bottom of the second ‘D’ and the very first logo for Don Diva Entertainment was born. The thought of a magazine had still not formed.

Tiffany called me late one evening when it was time to promote the existence of Don Diva Entertainment. She said that her boyfriend Kevin, who was then a little more than halfway through a ten-year prison sentence, had suggested that we create something a little more outstanding than mere fliers. The two had a little known ‘history’ prior to his incarceration and through her visiting another old fling who was being held at the same federal farm as Kevin, the two became reacquainted. KC says that we should create an album and make it look like a magazine, she stated. I agreed it was a good idea as well. What I was unaware of at the time was that Tiffany was using funds essentially siphoned off from monies allocated to her by Tyrone to run his business.

Tiffany continued, He [Kevin] said I should reach out to Jewels to help me get some pictures to put in it so people will be interested. Jewels was known by some to be Kevin’s younger cousin, but in actuality he was the younger brother of former cohorts of Kevin’s and he and Kevin had scarcely (if ever) met because (as Kevin explained to me) he was but a boy when Kevin was initially incarcerated.

Jewels reached out to the exclusive photographer to the gangsters and hustlers of Harlem, (my family and me among them) the Haitian born Alix Alley Cat Dejean. For thirty years Alix has shot everyone from a young Stevie Wonder and Diana Ross to infamous narcotic traffickers like Frank Lucas and Nicky Barnes. It was Barnes in fact that hired Alley Cat as the single photographer to shoot his secreted and exclusive (Drug) Council events.

Alix reluctantly agreed to provide the images for the promotional album which included never before seen shots of Harlem notables such as Wayne Dick Davis, and the murderous Black Hand leader Clarence Preacher Heatley, as well as a young Sean Puffy Combs and his Same Gang cronies, and not to mention the scores of young men and women whose names never made it out of their Harlem neighborhoods due to their premature deaths or indefinite incarcerations.

When the product was finally put together, the result was five hundred shoddy magazine’esque photo albums consisting of several washed looking black and white pictures of people, places and events from Harlem’s crack renaissance era circa 1984 to 1994. I later learned that Kevin suggested the idea of the album to Tiffany as a way of recouping some of her boss’s money, which he was noticing the absence of.

Tiffany hit me on my Motorola Two-Way, early one morning, texting excitedly, Call me!

Where are you? They’re here! You gotta see ‘em, they look crazy! I clumsily read the message and then called. I’m at Gwen’s, I croaked out.

Okay, I’m gonna have somebody bring you a coupl’a boxes. We gotta move these things, I spent a lot’a money! Whoo! she finished.

A’ight, I’m here. I murmured before my hand found the receiver.

I went from barbershop to beauty salon, from Amsterdam to Lenox Avenue, from 155th Street to across 110th and I introduced all patrons present to Don Diva Entertainment, selling at least three copies in each establishment after talking it up and showing the pictures, which in most instances at least two patrons recognized someone in. The shop owners or one of the more popular barbers or stylist took notice of the response I got and I was then able to arrange having them take ten copies on consignment at an 80/20 split (I began to do what I knew).

I went to every block and corner in every neighborhood I knew, which left few Harlem hoods untouched. By the end of the second day I had run through nearly one hundred copies of Don Diva Entertainment’s promotional photo album, which was titled, Reflections. I re’d up and began hitting all the clubs that Uptowners frequented and managed to get people to buy a slip-shod product that they’d never heard of for $20.00 a pop. I knew then that we were onto something.

The real confirmation for me came when I was standing in a local corner store on 145th Street on the downtown corner of 8th Avenue when a long time friend of mine who we call 40 walked up to me and said, When y’all gon’ do another issue?

I responded quizzically, An issue of what?

To which he responded, That Don Diva magazine. It was the very first time I’d heard those three words together but it was as though they’d been around forever.

I responded to 40’s question, Oh… yeah… we gon’ drop another one next month. Then I called Tiffany and told her what was happening on the street.

They think it’s a magazine! They askin’ me when we gon’ do another one! I exclaimed.

They sayin’ the same shit to Kev’ [in jail]!

Susan Hampstead (Tiffany’s assistant/friend who wrote a great deal of the first few issues) explained how when she and Tiffany returned from Florida attending the How Can I Be Down convention that, The office answering machine was full of messages, people were asking where they could get a subscription to the magazine, Tiffany was upset. She felt that the promo project had failed. That was October of 1999.

Prior to his arrest, Tyrone was not as enthused about the idea of the magazine since he’d become apprised of its proposed direction and its content. What’s the purpose of this magazine? What does it have to do with music? He’d asked and then he’d grumble, The government’s gwon come ofter me if you do this t’ing, Tiff’. He may have been feeling heat from his other activities by then and therefore felt it better not to antagonize the authorities.

A short time after we released the first official magazine Tyrone was picked up by Immigration and Naturalization who were backed by DEA and FBI agents. In addition to not being a naturalized citizen of the United States and thus an illegal immigrant, he was charged with being the Kingpin of a nationwide marijuana conspiracy.

These events helped to accelerate the production of the magazine because without Tyrone around to dole out the cash needed to support his artists (he was extremely beneficent) another way to maintain had to be established quickly. Tiffany hadn’t completely given up on the idea of managing the careers of the artists but as she would often state during that time, It’d easier to manage a magazine than it would these crazy muthafuckas he got signed, they think he they father! It was then that she decided that in Tyrone’s absence, the length of which was indeterminable at that point, she would use his money to get the equipment and maintain the office to run Don Diva Magazine. Little by little she alienated the artists who then funneled their complaints to Tyrone but what could he do she had his money and her freedom, plus she likely was the most competent person he had around him in the legitimate capacity. Tyrone relented and Don Diva Magazine was up and jogging.

I hit the streets, Tiffany manned the office assisted by Susan, and Kevin represented the brand from the inside, assuring those around him that Don Diva Magazine, unlike other urban magazines in the market at that time, represented only the honorable players. By sheer virtue of his involvement Kevin was able to establish that Don Diva Magazine was not about the exploitation of the fallen soldiers of the war against poverty, but that we were real people who overstood the plight and even too, (in my case) had played the game with honor and respect. We vowed to never give a Snitch a voice in Don Diva and with that we were accepted and that is the fantasy-free truth about the accidental birth of Don Diva Magazine. Time tells all things.

Preface

First widely publicized in 1970s Blaxploitation films, accounts of the extravagant lifestyles and deadly impact of Black and Hispanic gangsters have been chronicled time and again on screen, on records as well as in the press. Often the accounts are given by authors or journalists who have neither close ties to the street community nor a genuine interest in enlightening the populace as to the causes of the extreme conditions and ensuing choices of street people, thereby facilitating an understanding of our particular struggles.

For the most part it seems they (authors or journalists) just take advantage of an opportunity to exploit the desperate behavior and destruction of a nation of people, for their own gain–but such is the way of the world. Most books dealing with street-life, excluding the small minority that have been autobiographical, have been poured out from the perspective of the DEA, ATF, FBI or other law enforcement agencies and filtered through the minds of mainstream media–which comes down to little more than a mass theatrical production.

Few books on the subject of Blacks’ and Latinos’ roles within America’s drug and organized crime culture have been from the actual person’s lips to the mind’s ear of the reader. This, finally, is that book.

This unique perspective was created by the real life experiences of the executive staff at Don Diva magazine, we brought it all together to shed new light on devastating stories that so many across our nation have seen in the headlines of their local newspapers or heard rumored on the streets of their cities. Having survived the game; coming out with my life, my health and freedom, afforded me the qualifications necessary to respectfully and responsibly unveil this collection of pain and destruction, and to share the often obscured but nonetheless valuable lessons to be learned. These lessons are frequently desperate and usually devastating, stemming from choices made by gifted individuals spawned by the ghetto, under circumstances that are perpetuated largely through political policy in America. These are our trials and tribulations–walk with us, share our pain and hopefully grow in your understanding.

The Dope Game, as it is commonly referred to is anything but a game. Actual games eventually yield winners; the game of dealing drugs has only losers–some more delayed than others. So play if you believe that you must but if you do not correlate your knowledge of managing wealth with your acquisition of it then you’ve resolved to lose it.

–Cavario The Consigliere

Chapter 1.

While developing our 3rd issue of Don Diva we chose to focus on the children, particularly those adolescents involved with dealing narcotics before they were old enough to attend an R-rated movie un-chaperoned.

The two stories that follow were the main features in that issue.

This first story is all but common, coming out of the urban coil of America’s big cities. It was the summer of 1987; Georgie was on Webster Avenue sitting on the roof of his black Lamborghini Countach, casually twirling his car keys while staring into the red faces of frustrated federal agents who were known to follow him about the city... whenever they could keep up.

George Rivera aka Boy George: THE PUERTO-RICAN JAMES BOND

At the end of the 80s while America concerned itself with the crack epidemic, George Rivera was running one of the most lucrative and aggressive heroin organizations in the Bronx. Having begun his career as a preteen, George rose to the pinnacle of his power at the young age of 21, earning himself the nickname Boy George. Government sources say Boy George was employing over 50 people and grossing a quarter of a million dollars a week.

According to these sources, Boy George bought heroin wholesale from a Chinese supplier, referred to privately as Fried Rice, and passed it along to his lieutenant Six-O, a Jamaican hustler. Six-O was George’s first lieutenant and later on became the prosecution’s primary cooperating witness when the Obsession operation fell. Six-O passed the heroin off to the girlfriends and friends of their associates who acted as $10-an-hour workers, cutting the heroin in drug mills that were set up in South Bronx walk-ups and project apartments as well as some Manhattan and New Jersey hotels. Cutting the heroin consisted of adding quinine, which provided a rush sensation and another substance called lactose, an innocuous ingredient found in milk, it has no narcotic characteristics–as its sole purpose is to double and most often triple the weight of the heroin packaged for retail. The processed heroin was then spooned into thousands of glassine (semi-transparent, waxy finished) bags that were pre-stamped with Boy George’s brand name Obsession and his logo, a red crown. The bags were packaged into bundles containing ten bags each, each bag priced at $10. The bundles were given to street level dealers for sale at George’s spots: 22nd Street on 2nd Avenue, the block long building on 139th Street and Brook Avenue, 153rd - 156th Streets along Cortlandt Avenue, 651 Southern Boulevard, and 166th Street on Washington Avenue.

Obsession was an organizational pyramid with several levels of authority; spot managers generally made 10-20% of the profit and were responsible for paying the pitchers, who represented the base of the structure. Pitchers handled the hand-to-hand transactions with customers and were expected to combat with the cops and robbers. Steerers (usually used at the beginning stages of building a spot) were responsible for bringing in new customers and directing customer traffic to pitchers. Their commission or tops (meaning off-of-the-top once the sale was made) was typically $1.00 a bag and that responsibility also fell on the pitcher. Lookouts were probably the least compensated although they were the first line of defense between the pitchers and the police. The reason for this is probably due to the fact that a lookout need not be especially smart or tough; they need only have at least one good eye and a loud mouth and were therefore easily replaced. Lookouts were typically paid $50-$100 a day. Lieutenants represent a rung much higher up than all the others previously mentioned, they made $2,500 per week and the top-lieutenant of the Obsession crew, Six-O, made $12,000 a week. Boy George, Obsession’s capstone, made $45,000 a week.

George Rivera, barely out of his teens, built an organization so lucrative that he registered a fleet of Mercedes Benzes, BMWs and customized Porsches to one of his corporate fronts, Tuxedo Enterprises. George customized one of his favorite cars with a $12,000 Ostrich-skin interior, 630-watt stereo, 10-track CD player, multiple televisions, a VCR, and cell phones. Keep in mind we’re talking about the mid-eighties. Several of his cars were something straight out of a James Bond movie. Some had rear license plates that slid into compartments to expose blinding ZAP lights, a feature used to throw off would be trailers, be they cops or robbers. All of his cars had hidden safes, which George used to conceal money, guns and drugs. One Mercedes 190E released oil from its tail, another spat out large razor-like tacks to burst the tires of pursuers and enable the driver to escape in a car chase.

In 1989 Boy George bought real estate in Puerto Rico, and with the help of a financial consultant, began preparing to open a fast-food mall with a McDonald’s, Church’s Fried Chicken, and Pizza Hut inside. He also started to renovate and convert the Puerto Rican Estate that he purchased for $140,000 in cash into a permanent home. George had Obsession inscribed in tile on the bottom of his Mediterranean-blue swimming pool.

Boy George who has been described as charismatic and hardhearted, was extremely generous to his crew. He kept loyalty and admiration strong among his people with cash bonuses, gifts, and paid vacations. Lieutenants and managers received 18k gold belt buckles with their names encrusted in diamonds. Top