The passing of Montreal's godfather Vito Rizzuto this week has been marked with a remembrance of his secretive and violent life and the tragedies and ruthlessness engendered in the mob world. Understanding this world through the lens of Machiavelli will, perhaps, cast light into this dark world.
Niccolo Machiavelli argues that seeing gives to everyone, but touching is something distinct; flesh must meet, because from a distance flesh can only be ideas. Thus, to rule effectively, one must enact violence, flesh must meet flesh.
]]> If ever there endures in contemporary times an example which represents the Renaissance political system, it is the mafia. Thus, the godfather might be compared to the ideal Renaissance prince, since the leadership of both organizations relies on loyalties, exaltation or praise, and conspiracies to subsist.Machiavelli explains that power is diminished from exhibition because a prince becomes weaker when he is exposed to the public eye; therefore, neither a prince nor a godfather can be exposed when conducting actions against humanity. Thus, as leaders, they rely on an inner circle of fellows, a cabal of sorts, to enact violence on their behalf. And futhermore, in their stead, they challenge the powerful and the rich to enhance their own power and reputation and offer an affordance to this enrichment. A mafia-constructed harmony arises from the protection and security the mob offers in lieu of destruction.
A godfather is esteemed according to his qualities of persuasion, his ability to convince others to believe that everything is fine as long as he is in control.
Machiavelli writes further that a prince should behave prudently in order to succeed. Only if a prince is capable to defend his own people, will will he engender loyalty. A godfather cannot defend the others if he is not able to defend himself. If his army is stronger and he decides to attack first, he will succeed because, eventually, he will eliminate his enemies and keep them far from home; at the same time, he will be respected by his own people and his inner-circle.
Machiavelli explains that it is necessary for a prince to be so prudent that he knows how to flee the infamy of those vices that might take the power away from him. If a prince wishes to maintain himself in power, it is necessary for him to learn how to be evil and use this faculty constantly and not to use it according to necessity.
Leadership in a carnival of lust and violence is engendered through a deity-like existence of worship. However, maintaining this praise or apotheosis is troublesome. The congregation of gluttons seeks a leader that demonstrates virtuosity or brilliance; therefore, in order to be esteemed, a prince or godfather should be charismatic, generous, and friendly with his people, gaining and losing popularity when he acts as a true ally or true enemy of his rivals and/or his people.
It is found in history that most conspiracies are made by great men, or those very familiar to them; therefore, a mix of prudence and evilness aids the godfather to discern among their inner circle to avoid conspiracies and to be successful. Ultimately, Machievelli argues, the Renaissance prince who wishes to guard himself from conspiracies should fear more those who he has done too many favours more so than those to whom he has done too many injuries; the wish is similar because the desire to dominate is as great or greater than is vengeance.
Princes and godfathers have no greater enemy than conspiracy. The execution of those around him demonstrates keen prudence and a constancy that demands worship.
In order to apply revenge as justice, a godfather intimidates those who are against his fellows, who he considers as his own enemies. Punishment is the method used to exert violence, and as a consequence, people fear the mafia for the violent procedures against those people that have violated mafia codes, interests, and the interests of the ones within the inner-circle.
A mafioso may be respected as a leader if he is not abusive to his own people, if he is able to create harmony among individuals and punish those who are doing wrong, strengthening his power and turning the notion of virtue into three main loyalties to family, leader, and friends.
The mafia, like all political systems, is incompatible with morality. And, ultimately, the legacy of Vito Rizzuto arises from his influential leadership and his impact on the social, economic, and political life of Montreal society.
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Justice can be so elusive - humanity has tinkered with its definition and implementation for thousands of years. Yet, we still don't seem to have a conclusive, universal definition that goes beyond the theoretical and is practical for everyone. While some people may 'turn the other cheek' when facing injustice, others pursue 'an eye for an eye'. In Canada, a victim will take a criminal case to the authorities and the authorities will then prosecute. In the end, we rely on an impartial jury to process the evidence objectively and provide a non-biased verdict. The justice system we are familiar with in Canada may be appropriate for the crimes commonly committed here - theft, assault, fraud, murder - but what if the individual on stand was responsible for the torture and deaths of thousands of men, women and children, and for decades of barbaric oppression of an entire nation?
Image source: Flickr.
]]>Take the case of the Al-Qaeda leader, Osama bin Laden; an enemy to the West since the
tragic attacks on New York City and Washington in 2001. The United States
searched far and wide for this criminal with their 'War on Terror' by
destroying infrastructure, burning through trillions of tax dollars, sacrificing
many of their young men and women, and killing thousands of innocent civilians.
When US Navy SEALs found bin Laden in Pakistan, they did not arrest him and
read him his Miranda Rights; they killed him. I'm sure many survivors of the
9/11 attacks finally felt at peace, but I couldn't help but cringe when I saw
the massive, joyous celebrations being held in the United States that night[i].
They were literally celebrating the murder of another human being, a
person they had been condemning for murdering people.
The Obama Administration declared that "justice has been done"[ii], but it actually put them at the same level as bin Laden - murderers. Bringing him to trial and sentencing him to jail time probably wouldn't have been as climactic, but Americans could have held their heads high. As notable filmmaker Michael Moore put it, "the way we show the world that we're different is that we give even the most heinous person their day in court,".[iii]
A similar scenario occurred in Libya, when the nation revolted against the oppressive, forty-two years of Muammar el-Gaddafi's dictatorship in early 2011.[iv] Chronicled by amateur video on YouTube, Gaddafi's death would definitely constitute as 'cruel and unusual punishment', some might even say it was barbaric, and the ICC has indicated that it may have been a war crime.[v] He was clearly unarmed and severely injured, but fighters excitedly continued their violence, possibly even sodomizing him, and he died by a gunshot wound while in custody.[vi] The display of his corpse in the days following his murder was unsettling and often accompanied by a "Graphic Content" warning when reported in Western media.
I understand that for the people who had suffered under his rule for so long, this might have been fantasized about for years and I can only write this from a third-party perspective, but that video truly disturbed me, as a human being. Yes, his crimes were atrocious and he had abused his people for almost half a century, but that doesn't suspend his human rights. Gaddafi didn't die in combat, he was alive when apprehended by rebel forces and then murdered. No matter his crimes, Gaddafi was still a human being and entitled to those universal, inalienable rights to a fair trial and to be free from cruel and unusual punishment, just as we all are as declared in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.[vii]
Obviously this isn't the first instance of brutal dictator slaughtering - the execution and public corpse display of Italian dictator Benito Mussolini by Italian partisans in 1945 comes to mind.[viii] It's fair to say that other nations have survived and prospered afterwards, just as Italy did, but the problem is that there is no need for the global citizens of today to continue to resort to those measures. We are supposed to evolve and avoid repeating history. The UDHR was established in 1948, three years after Mussolini's execution, but 63 years before Gaddafi's. I do not condone the spirit of Gaddafi's dictatorship and his crimes, but I do not condone murdering a human being to solve the problem, when we have clear rules of law.
The methods rebel fighters used that day were excessive, to say the least, and violated several human rights that no one had the right to take away from Gaddafi. It's hard to see how a new, just Libya can arise from this act of brutal violence and in my opinion, it has already started the new Libya in the same way the old was being run. "...It will set the tone for whether the new Libya will be ruled by law or by summary violence," said Sarah Leah Whitson, Middle East and North African director of Human Rights Watch.[ix]
As shocking as the images of his capture and corpse were, it also didn't come as a surprise. Of course the oppressed people would avenge their decades of suffering by executing the man responsible for it when they got the chance; which is exactly why I think it would have made a more impactful statement if Libyans had arrested Gaddafi and put him on trial for his crimes. They had the chance to establish themselves as the new Libya they had been fighting for; it would have shown a truly new era for the nation if they could overcome their anger and use the rational rule of law to bring justice for their people.
Canadians were recently put to a similar test with the case of Rwandan war criminal Léon Mugesera, who allegedly incited the 1994 Rwandan Genocide, during which time he was vice-president of an influential political party. For 16 years he has been residing in Québec City, avoiding extradition with claims that he will be tortured if he were to face criminal court in his home country. Canadian courts have postponed his deportation, though they did not have the obligation to do so, to allow for a United Nations investigation into his claims.[x] Justice may be overdue for the people of Rwanda, but I applaud Canada and the United Nations for ensuring that justice is achieved humanely by taking precautions for Mugesera.
No matter how monstrous the crimes, a person is still human. If we can't respect them as such, how can we call ourselves civilized?
Photos:
a. Osama bin Laden. ABC News: http://a.abcnews.com/images/International/ap_osama_bin_laden_2_ll_110502_wg.jpg
b. Muammar el-Gaddafi. FirstPost.com:
http://www.firstpost.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/380GADAFFI.jpg
c. Benito Mussolini. Wikipedia.com: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/54/Bundesarchiv_Bild_183-2007-1022-506,_Italien,_deutsche_Frontk%C3%A4mpfer_in_Rom_crop.jpg/250px-Bundesarchiv_Bild_183-2007-1022-506,_Italien,_deutsche_Frontk%C3%A4mpfer_in_Rom_crop.jpg
d. Benito Mussolini's body hung for public display. DocumentingReality.com: http://www.documentingreality.com/forum/attachments/f10/104508d1258726110-benito-mussolini-kopie-von-muss3.jpg
[i] "Osama Bin Laden Dead: Huge Crowd Celebrates Outside White House," Huffington Post 02 May 2011: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/05/02/osama-bin-laden-dead-celebrations_n_856380.html
[ii] Jennifer Bendery and Sam Stein, "Osama Bin Laden Dead, Obama Announces," Huffington Post 02 May 2011: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/05/01/osama-bin-laden-dead-killed_n_856091.html
[iii] Jack Mirkinson, "Michael Moore, Elisabeth Hasselback Clash Over Bin Laden Death On 'The View'," Huffington Post 14 September 2011: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/09/14/michael-moore-elisabeth-hasselbeck-bin-laden-the-view_n_962710.html
[iv] "Muammar el-Qaddafi (1942-2011)," New York Times 25 October 2011: http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/q/muammar_el_qaddafi/index.html?scp=1-spot&sq=gaddafi&st=cse
[v] "ICC says Muammar Gaddafi killing may be war crime," BBC News: Africa 16 December 2011: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-16212133
[vi] Mark Hanrahan, "Gaddafi Sodomized? Video Shows Libyan Leader Attacked By Captors," Huffington Post 24 December 2011: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/24/gaddafi-sodomized-video_n_1028970.html
[vii] The Universal Declaration of Human Rights: http://www.un.org/en/documents/udhr/
[viii] "1945: Italian partisans kill Mussolini," BBC ON THIS DAY 28 April 1945: http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/april/28/newsid_3564000/3564529.stm
[ix] "Libya: Investigate Deaths of Gaddafi and Son: New Evidence Heightens Concerns of Summary Executions," Human Rights Watch News 22 October 2011: http://www.hrw.org/news/2011/10/22/libya-investigate-deaths-gaddafi-and-son
[x] "Mugesera to seek leave from detention centre," Montréal Gazette 16 January 2012: http://www.montrealgazette.com/news/Mugesera+seek+leave+from+detention+centre/6001124/story.html
]]>I can proudly say my family has never been to an elegant dinner party. We've been invited to a couple, but nothing takes away elegance like a high-pitched fart coming from my father's desperate attempt to hide gas by clenching his butt cheeks, or my mother falling while trying to bust a move on the dance floor. It's not that my family never had thoughts of being sophisticated. We were never given the choice. Instead of trying to fit into a world that didn't want us, we shared our time with people who accepted us for what we were, most of the time they were outcasts themselves, an island of lost toys consisting of handicaps, bad habits, and bad pasts.
I've spent the majority of my life on the sideline of the criminal life. Through most of it I've kept my head down and my nose clean. My regrets, if I have any, would lie with the weight that comes with knowing their secrets, not because of some of the negative outcomes these secrets had on their lives, this was their own doing, but because the more I learned about who they were, the less they became someone to fear or judge, and the more I understood that we are all criminals. Why this feels like regret is because if the borders between the bad guys and good guys doesn't exist, what are we left with? But I digress; this is a story I need to start from the beginning, with a simple story of two small-town kids who fell in love.
My mother was born with cerebral palsy. For those who don't know what cerebral palsy is, and without going into too many details, I can assure you it is something that can catch a few eyes from time to time, and it isn't something that can go away with a simple cough drop. How these two met is still a mystery to me, no matter how many times I hear the story. But they met, fell in love, and created a type of pact. A pact that included speaking for those who were unable to speak for themselves. I've thought if I could meet them at this point in their lives, and tell them where their lives would end up, would they believe me? They've both guaranteed me, there'd be no chance in hell.
It's not that we were dangerous, we just looked or acted in a way different enough for mothers to hide their children when they saw us. For instance, my father's best friend, whom I called uncle Brian, was a man with a similar size to my father but with broader shoulders. I used to grab his forearm with all my might while he lifted me up and down with little strain, a game we continued to play when I weighted over 90 pounds. As a boy I once lost my mother in a shopping mall. When I couldn't find her, I went to the closest thing to safety I could find, this happened to be a large longhaired biker who, my mother would tell me later on, had always been regarded as dangerous looking and was touched to meet a boy who saw him as otherwise. She assured him that most men who looked like him were big teddy bears, and then she most likely invited him to dinner, I'm not sure if she would even remember if she did.
Our family's life changed one day when in church, my father asked why God only spoke to preachers and not someone like him. After reading Matthew 6:13, "But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you", my father decided to do just that. He had no job, we had very little money in the bank, and my father decided to fast for forty days and nights and pray until he heard God's voice. When I told people at school about my father's fast, I was put into detention. I learned then that these subjects aren't well received. After his fast my father felt God tell him that he was to go into prison ministry. And down the rabbit hole we went.
Don
I'm sure there were others, but Don is the first to come to mind, probably because he was our first success. There are many gaps when it comes to the prison system, this is one of them: Get caught. Do time. Go free. And never find good employment or housing again. I don't know why this is okay in a society as "advanced" as ours. I think it has something to do with how people view ex-convicts, unless it's Paris Hilton or Martha Stewart, for some reason they're still A-OK if they do time in the clink. Are people scared of ex-cons because they got caught or because they did the crime? If it is a fear about the crime, than wouldn't someone who got caught for his or her crime be more likely not to do the crime again? I'll put this in other words: If one day I thought, "I'm sick of paying for shit, I'm going to just take things", and I was arrested for this, than put into a small cement hole with a bunch of other stinky guys for a while, unable to hug or see my family while I'm in there. Once I'm finally out of that hole, I'm more likely to start paying for shit. I know it seems like a simple concept, but a lot of guys start doing crime again cause nobody will hire them for anything else. There are other factors, many that my family has had to deal with, but this one cannot be overlooked. My family is part of the few in this country that try to help. And according to the amount of dinner guests my family has had, I think the prison system they want looks like this: Get caught. Do time. Go free. And have dinner with JD's family. I remember Don being one of our earliest dinner guests.
Don was a criminal. He was not a person who did a crime. There's a difference. And his story is unfortunately not uncommon. His mother died in a mental institution and his father was a drunk. He was moved into foster care where he was severely abused for years. He did what he was taught to, which meant being in and out of prison a lot. With help he was able to get a job once he got out of prison. My family learned a valuable lesson with Don. One day when he was at our house, my mother brought him some homemade muffins and some coffee in a red speckled camping cup. Don started yelling and threw the cup and muffins on the ground. To Don, a tin cup meant prison, and muffins meant a food lineup for the homeless. Symbols have power. And helping someone doesn't mean giving them your spare change.
I don't remember these events at all. What I remember are the conversations my parents had about the incident, and made sure that I remembered it. When I remember Don, I think of his El Camino. The roar of it coming up to our house was what I always imagined lions to sound like. I had to stare at it for most of a day to gather up the strength to walk up to it. I remember standing in front of it and looking into the right headlamp, hoping the beast wouldn't wake up, wink at me and say, "Thought I was asleep eh? Well too bad, now I'm going to gobble you up!" All that power just stayed asleep under the hood while I watched. My curiosity got the best of me, and I wondered what would happen if I touched it. As soon as I put my hand up to touch it, Don came walking towards the car saying, "You like El Caminos?" I had no idea that's what you called the thing in front of me, but he went on, "Lots of people don't like the El Camino anymore. They're selling them for dirt." He rubbed his hands across the hood, "I still think they're a classic", than he smacked it twice with his first, "And you can't get anymore dependable than this old gal." He jumped into the driver's seat and said, "Here, listen to this." He turned the key, and with that, the car was alive. He revved the engine and I could hear the entire growl of it. It scared me, but I never wanted cars to sound any other way.
The joy of owning a muscle car is not the final product. If someone has enough money they can buy a restored muscle car and enjoy the thrill of its power, but they will never respect it. A real gear-head understands the joy of finding the broken shell of car, picking it up, and spending years under its hood. You rebuild a muscle car piece by piece. You learn its simple mechanics. You polish and clean each body part, and figure out exactly where everything goes. There is not much better in this world than a group a buddies sitting around in a garage fixing a muscle car. From what I've seen, that's the entire reason for having one. By the time someone fixes a muscle car, if they buy the shell in their 20s, they are usually at the age of retirement.
If you ever get the chance to meet an older gear-head, ask them their favorite memory of building a muscle car. More often than not, they will tell you a memory of a bunch of boys sitting around, drinking beer, and trying to get the damn thing started. I can't think of a better metaphor than that for Don. Don saw his life as a rusted old Al Camino, and instead of giving up on it he worked it piece by piece. Something similar was said by Camus when he said, "The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart." And though I find Camus a bit flowery with his language, I do think that most gear-heads would understand the gist of what he's trying to say.
Truly, Madly, and Deeply
Not all the stories turned out as nicely as Don. In fact, looking back I think he was the nicest. I guess that's why I started with him. Jean's story is exactly that, he's a story. He lied about most everything, so it's hard to say who Jean really is. I've come to understand people like Jean as black holes. No matter how much you give, it's never enough. What he wanted was simple: A nice home, a family, and a son. And he had all the tools to have that. Jean was tall, good-looking, and incredibly charismatic. If that's not enough, he was also very smart. What got in his way was he wasn't able to like himself. So anyone who actually cared for him was unable to, cause in his mind, the only reason someone would seem like they cared was out of pity.
There was a lot of drama surrounding Jean, but as a kid you don't really notice these things. I remember being told that Jean had a tendency for picking up women, and then becoming insanely jealous. I hadn't noticed anything, so it never bothered me too much.
On one of my birthdays I got some money, and I noticed a couple days later that the money was gone. I was sad that the money was gone, and I knew my parent's weren't that hard up. Even to a kid it was obvious where the money had gone, but Jean liked me, and he liked to buy me gifts. The reason for this was that his recent girlfriend had aborted her child. He felt he knew it was a boy, and saw me as a memory of that. In the excitement of a new Star Wars movie coming out, restaurants were giving away commemorative cups where you could suck your cola out of the heads of your favorite characters. Jean gave me these cups. I wasn't the biggest Star Wars fan, I would have much preferred to get the meal that came along with it, but I thought to myself, "at least he's using my money to eat."
I think with a Christian upbringing, and my parents giving spirit, it helped me see things a different way.
Jean always had a persona with people, I knew that even then. If it was just he and I, he never felt the need to impress me. He would drop his character, and put on his real face. I got to see this when he drove me home from church one day when he said, "You ever want to get married?"
Of course I had never really thought about it, but I knew I liked girls, so my response sounded something like, 'Um, ya ... sure I think.' But Jean wasn't really talking to me. He was talking at me. He went into his leather jacket and pulled out a Savage Garden CD and said, "There's a song on this CD I want to get married to." I wasn't a fan of Savage Garden. At that point I had never met a man who not only liked Savage Garden, but would also admit to liking it. My judgment stopped when I saw Jean was crying. He was not a man to cry, so I listened to what the song had to say. The song "Truly Madly Deeply" came on. His right hand rested on the wheel, and his head nodding in agreement to the words. He wiped the tears running down his face while the lyrics spoke of a love that was so deep it made you crazy. When the song ended, he pulled to the side of the road and broke down.
This scared the shit out of me. I knew that Jean was showing me his real self, and I didn't like it. I saw the sadness that drove him to do what he did and part of me understood it. He wanted to be loved, but anger drove his passion. He started to pound the steering wheel with fists as I watched tears drip off his nose. He started yelling and cursing God for making the world the way it was. He was angry and primal. I couldn't recognize him. It was as if a switch had gone off inside of him. During this Hyde period I closed my eyes as I waited for him to finish. When I opened them again, he was Dr. Jekyll putting the truck back into drive. We didn't speak for the rest of the ride home.
Later on, my mother had to go to court to testify against Jean with five other women. In a fit of rage Jean had threatened my mother, and accused her of trying to separate him from his newly pregnant girlfriend. He felt he needed to assert his point with a hand around my mother's throat. When I heard this, I could only think of the drive home from church. It was the first time I understood where his actions came from. I knew that in time he would hurt other women. He spent five years in Bowden and was found not to be a dangerous offender. I remember my mother's words much clearer on the subject:
"The officer I had the privilege of working with believes there will be a body someday floating down a river somewhere. It will probably be female. At that time, we will all be asked to sit on those wooden benches again. I wonder will he be considered dangerous then?"
I remember after the trial the police thought it would be best to protect my family. My sister and I would wave to them from our front window. They were supposed to be undercover, but no matter who you are when all your windows are tinted, you're and idiot drawing attention to yourself. I was annoyed that they wouldn't drive me to school. It seemed like a waste of time for them to follow me all the way there without helping out a little.
I found out more details about Jean later on. It's obvious to me that he wasn't getting the help that he needed. Prison wasn't going to change him. It was only going to make him worse. I know he would be pissed if he ever read this. He got angry if anyone ever saw him as weak. But, most likely he's just an old man sitting alone in some room, wishing someone loved him.
The King of the Park
Despite what many think, the human spirit can be broken. A life can be so altered and manipulated that it is beyond repair. It's our ego that tells us otherwise. When meeting a broken shell of a person, you want to ask questions like: Are you able to feel happiness? Do you even know what it is? What do you dream? Are you able to dream? Do your memories feel like your own? Do you feel like you are alive? Everything you would ask a ghost. And though they might be surrounded by flesh and bone, it's the best way to describe them.
I call him the king of the park because he has no other name, not one that he knows anymore. We found him raking leaves in a public park. His face never changed. The more the leaves dropped, the more he raked. He might have been homeless, we never knew.
He ate when he could, and slept where he could. Where or what he ate didn't matter to him. What mattered to him, when we found him, was the park. When we moved him away from it and into our home, he didn't object. It was as if the park never existed when we moved him. All those hours of labor and care meant nothing. Almost as if he had forgotten he was in a park at all. He never said a word while we drove him. He just kept looking at his shoes.
I would come home after school and find him raking our leaves. When I went to help him with his pile, he would start another one. We had heard some things about his past. We heard that he had murdered a lot of people, but not in hate or in contempt, but because someone gave him a gun and told him, "In this country you either kill or get killed." I wondered then if he had the same blank expression when he killed people as when he raked leaves. He was too old for prison, so they let him into the world. We wanted to give him a life, but it was obvious that the ability to live was stolen from him long ago.
The first time I heard him speak was when we were giving a dog a bath. By this time we had grown more comfortable with him silently following us. We assumed he liked dogs because he would care for them. But, we also assumed he liked the park. I assumed he felt the same way about dogs as he did leaves. When he spoke I was surprised to hear his European accent, "They drown them . . . they drown them in front of us. We were children. Too much . . . too much." Tears went down his face, but his countenance didn't change. I watched his body rebel against his hollow. Watching him was like watching a mistake in nature, as if birds one day flew their V toward a cold winter. Without thought or understanding, his basic nature had changed.
In bits and pieces we heard his story, not in coherent sentences, but fragments of speech spoken to no one in particular. We heard of Christian leaders running an orphanage in St. Johns Newfoundland, and the physical and sexual abuse he went through. We researched and found tragedy and corruption in places like Mount Cashel. We read books depicting similar stories to what he told us. There was no way to prove or disprove what he had said, and to this day there is no way of knowing what happened. His broken words and phrases could have been lies. It was easier to believe that. It was easier to help him if we felt he wasn't damaged to the point of no return. But, we never knew. He could have been anyone.
When thinking back, I can only think of a void of a person. Someone who had lost, or experienced, so much that his body was the only thing that was left. A mind so pushed beyond its capacity, that murder and a handshake were both equally foreign and comfortable. We got him a job walking dogs. It was the best we could think of. I remember thinking his life didn't seem to change, and that he would have been just as comfortable in the park. After that, I viewed everyone more fragile than before, as desperate creatures clinging to something we call humanity, something I once thought we could never lose, to something that I no longer understood. A concept echoed in Melville's "Bartlby", where a character much like the king of the park dies in a prison. Melville's closing lines of the story are, "Ah Bartlby, Ah humanity."
We taught the king of the park such things as buying food and what money was. He was able to live fine enough on his own. It made no difference to him. He didn't seem like he wanted to commit crimes anymore, but he didn't seem like he wanted to do anything. It is hard to say if we helped him, or if he could be helped. We moved onto other people without knowing if he would remember us, unaware if he knew how he ended up walking dogs. I assume now that he has died, but that might not be the case.
Maybe one day while walking dogs he never returned home. Maybe he returned to the park. I like these thoughts, they're hopeful and easy to digest, but I can't help thinking what a man like him is capable of. Without remorse or a fear of punishment, I view him like a shell-shocked soldier taking orders from foggy memories of rape and torture. Humans are fragile, and in the base form, they're the same. And though most of us say we wouldn't murder or steal, we've been doing it since we came into existence. It would be nice to think that at our core we are good people, though I'm not sure if that's true. If raised to believe we had to kill to survive, would we view people as nothing more than walking mounds of flesh? Without a social contract or imprisonment, are we all dormant criminals in wait of a situation that breaks our moral code?
Hells Angels
Everyone knew the rumor, if you worked your way up the union ladder, maybe one day you could work at Vancouver Shipyard, more commonly known as the Drydocks. I had also heard the rumors surrounding the Drydocks, mostly that members of the Hells Angels East Charter worked there cause of the fast hard pay, giving the government a viable reason for how they got their money.
But, when it came to the lower Eastside, all I heard were rumors, I started to think the local hippies and artists were spreading them in order to get cheaper rent. Some of the rumors were true though, there were a lot of junkies and whores, but when you're in your twenties, so are you. If you're telling everyone you're not; you're either lying, stuck-up, or a brag. Despite what you may hear, there is nothing dangerous about the Eastside. I wouldn't suggest making a crack necklace and start walking around, unless you wanted to reignite the athletic prowess of the 2010 Olympics and start a million man run-for-your-life, but given the amount of coffee shops and young loving parents with strollers, I would say life was pretty safe.
In the Eastside, nobody paid attention to the Angels, everyone knew what they did, but nobody cared. Up the stairs of the Amsterdam café, turn left, you'll find an angel to sell you drugs. First thing you learned about the eastside besides avoid Hastings and Main at night. If a cop car drove by everyone paid attention to what they were doing, and there is a reason for that. Both angels and cops wore uniforms. Both were either a protection or a threat, depending on what you were doing. Yet, if you want to cut the population of Vancouver in half, pry away the glass blown bubblers from the brown teeth of its regular citizens and see what happens. People will put up with a lot shit for good bud.
I was thrilled when my union representative told me I got the job at the Drydocks. It encompassed the North Vancouver coastline and faced the lights downtown. The sunrise alone was worth it. The men who worked there hadn't changed in forty years. They would complain about their families at work, and complain about work to their families. They led peaceful lives. The rumors were wrong of course, there weren't fights or hard heartedness, just men who worked hard and played hard.
Every once in a while after meeting one of the members, I would be introduced to another member wearing a Hells Angels patch, but never in front of anyone it would offend and never on the Drydocks. In the winter, I would drive some of the boys to and from work when it was too cold for motorcycles. They were always thankful and would offer to buy me beer or a dance at the bar. During lunch one day, I was warned against hanging out with them because they were dangerous. At the time, I didn't find the advice fitting. Then, eventually, without realizing it at first, I found myself being avoided by anyone without a motorcycle. One time, while we were drinking beer after work, some of the members found out I liked to read and write, so they told me their stories. I found out the different levels taken to acquire a full Hells Angels patch: first being a hang-around, than an associate, than a prospect, then finally a full patch. Patch members became distant after hearing what I was being told; they became comfortable with me after that day in the hulls.
When working in the hulls of a large metal boat, you wear an oxygen mask because rust eats oxygen. It's recommended that you have two different flashlights, a two-way radio, a full body suit, and all other standard safety equipment. Many ships have only one entrance into the hulls, so to travel from hull to hull, you have to crawl on your stomach through the small metal openings that connect each one. Some more modern ships, like the one we worked on that day, are designed with even smaller hulls that will fit a regular sized man if he is crunched into a fetal position. I've never had an imposing figure, or a fear or small spaces, so working in the hulls never bothered me.
That day I needed help, so one of the members came in with me. Not long after crawling through the hulls, he started to behave and breathe erratically, ripping open his body suit and trying to take off his oxygen mask. I radioed the surface, trying my best to keep his mask on in fear he might breathe in too much of the low oxygen air. He calmed down enough to stop grabbing at his mask, but felt unable to move. The rescue team was coming, but we were too deep into the hulls to use the crane to lift him out. My radio cracked that a harness had been lowered and we needed to crawl over so they could put it on him. An odd silence took over the hull as we sat together. He closed his eyes as the pace of his breathing slowed. And as suddenly as it had started, it was over. He looked at me and slowly nodded his head, indicating he was ready to follow me out of the hulls. When we reached the end, a member of the rescue team attached the harness, and then signaled the crane to lift him out. Once everything was over, the story became rumor, the rumor became myth, and that myth followed me until the day I quit the docks and left Vancouver.
Not long after getting settled into a new city, I read about the death and arrests of some of the Hells Angels East Charter. A book came out, recalling the events called, "Hell To Pay: Hells Angels vs. The Million-Dollar Rat" where it explains the events of a member ratting out to the cops. Even though I wasn't there anymore, I knew everything had changed. I knew that my friendship would now be seen as a threat. I knew they would no longer work at the Drydocks. They're probably still in charge of the drugs in the Vancouver Eastside, but they wouldn't have the same friendliness they once had. I'm sure the only time my name was brought up again was in asking amongst them if I had anything to use against them. The only information I have about them is information that nobody would want to hear. Stories of who snores loudest when they're hung over, about their time on the open road, and the story of one member in particular, that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, is claustrophobic.
Final Thoughts
My family still works in prison and not much has changed. Whenever I go to my folks house, the table is still filled with all different sorts of people: Judges, Lawyers, Ex-Mafia, Convicts, Policemen, and who can forget the lovely members of my mother's sewing circle.
It's a place where anyone can sit and feel accepted. These are only a few stories of convicts that have been to my house or my experience of knowing some who are on the "bad" side of the tracks, there are many more not included here. Most of these stories exist because my parents wanted to help people in need. A lot of people have asked them how they continue. I know both my parents would say it is because of God and leave it at that, which is a great answer, but it doesn't explain enough to those who don't know where they're coming from.
There are people who talk about Christianity with a whole holier-than-thou type of air, and there are people who rebel against this in a similar fashion. And to these people I want to say, "Who the fuck are you to judge?" Both my parents (sorry guys) have put this in much more eloquent terms. My father would quote the bible saying, "Judge not, and ye shall not be judged" (Matthew 7:1), or ,"He that without sin among you, let him first cast a stone" (John 8:7). My mother would say, "Hell was made for sinners, and everyone is a sinner", or ,"There is no grading system for sin, they are all the same, so we are all the same." The point is, my family has been accepted and forgiven for whom they are and all the stuff they've done, so they have no problem accepting others the same way. My mother, who is much more poetic than me in her daily life, even wrote a poem about it called "The Smell of Sheep." If it were my poem I probably would have called it "So We All Smell Like Sheep Shit . . . Now What?" But again, I digress.
If everyone were caught for the wrongs they've done, and put into prison for it, there wouldn't be a need for any walls because our entire planet would be convicted. Shakespeare's thoughts were similar on the subject:
Guildenstern: Prison, my lord?
Hamlet: Denmark's a prison
Rosencrantz: Then the world is one.
Hamlet: A goodly one, in which there are many confines, wards and dungeons, Denmark being one o' the worst.
Rosencrantz: We think not so, my lord.
Hamlet: Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.
(Act II, Scene II)
I've never been to Denmark, but I'm sure everyone has felt like his or her hometown sucked, but that's not the point. Hamlet's description of the world being is a prison makes sense. Everyone is in the same boat. We've all made mistakes. We've all done some good. And I'm not as depressed, or arguably as insane as Hamlet, but the choice he gives is important. There is no such thing as "good" or "bad", but as Hamlet puts it "thinking makes it so." In my own words, I think Hamlet summing up what most of us do. Each person has an idea of what's a good or a bad person, and then we distinguish ourselves in those categories. In Hamlet's mind we all are bad people, so then the world is a prison. What keeps my family helping those in need is this idea. In their eyes they are the same as the criminals they help. I like this idea. It's helped a lot of people. It seems like a better way of approaching things than what Hamlet does, where he tries to get rid of those who are guilty and everyone ends up dead.
To answer the question asked at the beginning, if we no longer had the borders between good and bad guys, we're left with people. My life may have been on the border of the criminal life, but it never felt like that.
The motto for the Hells Angels goes like this, "When we do right, nobody remembers. When we do wrong, nobody forgets."
I'm not advocating the actions of the Hells Angels, or trying to say there isn't injustice in this world. There is nobody that can be lumped together as single type of person. Most biker gangs just want to hit the open road on their choppers, most criminals just want to be free, and when it comes down to it, if there are any real rights left, I would say this was God given, but has been taken away by our notions of what's good, what's bad, and has left us with the ugly.
]]>For those who did not get a chance to read the first interview with Dark Horse Nebula (DHN for short), it spanned across a time with a former heavy weight of organized crime and his life up till his point of criminal success. We spoke about his cruel upbringing, his adventures with women, his times in prison and his drug addiction. This follow-up interview is exactly the same with one major difference, the story continues on.
I do not claim to understand a life of crime, or what it would feel like to continue on once that life is over. Because my parents work with Prison Fellowship I've been able to hear the dark tales of a criminal life, and see the life that continues on afterward. During the interview you can hear my parents phone ringing, comments on my mother's cooking, and stories of how my parents helped DHN. I know one of the major rules of an interview is to remain unbiased, and I try to abide by this rule to the best of my ability; yet when the person you're interviewing talks about how he met your parents and the impact this had on him, it's difficult not to be personal. I apologize to any critic that may read this, professional or not, on the journalistic rules broken during this interview. All the same I'm not a journalist, I want the real story, and if the rules are broken so be it.
This is my own personal disclaimer, if I dare break another journalistic rule, and
it's not regarding the foul language, violence, sexual objectification or drug use talked about during the interview. This disclaimer regards the much more avoided topic of God, faith, and at one point the Holy Spirit. This was not put in to be disputed, debated or as propaganda, this was put in because it changed DHN from a man who would end your
life if you got in his way, to a man who wants to help the unfortunate; that's all. For those
who find it insulting that God could be aligned alongside such fowl language and behavior, all I have to say is it's hard walking a mile in criminal shoes without getting some shit on your heel, so have some grace and I hope you enjoy.
JD: Ya?
DHN: I hooked up with a crazy bitch. I gotta get rid of her.
JD: Hooked up with a crazy bitch? What's up?
DHN: It's like the song, "Crazy Bitch". Hahahaha. That's about it. I gotta get rid of this.
JD: Why are you so successful with women?
DHN: I don't know. I keep trying to dump her and she keeps coming back. She breaks into my house and she's there waiting for me and I'm like, "No way man". I can't help it. Than she died on Monday, literally.
JD: What?
DHN: She hit the floor, pulse stopped, and her breathing stopped.
JD: Jesus
DHN: I hit her in the chest, CPR stuff, and she came out of it. Than I nursed her-
JD: Is that drugs?
DHN: Um. More of a hydration . . . a rundown, she didn't get enough sleep right.
JD: She died because of lack of sleep?
DHN: And stopped to go to the bathroom and collapsed. Wham. And I went "Holy fuck".
JD: Ya, no shit man. So, where were we here. DHN: I can't remember where we ended up.
JD: I think you were . . . you were 27.
DHN: Okay . . .
JD: Ya. Okay I can just ask you some questions if you want?
DHN: K that will work. Ya.
JD: One of them is, how are you so successful with women?
DHN: I wouldn't call this one a success.
JD: Ya this one.
DHN: Cause I got a good sense of humor. I'm not a bad looking dude. You know what I mean?
JD: What about the bad boy angle?
DHN: That to, and I've got a bit wrench. Works every time. Hahahahaha.
JD: So would you say more handsomeness or badboyness?
DHN: Probably a little bit of . . . I got a good side to that they see. They see the good side of me. That . . . initially it's the bad boy, good look thing that gets it going. That attracts them. And then um - then I get to - start to care about them obviously and then um, it kind of changes than they see the other side of me. Than they get hooked on that, cause they got a big teddy bear. I'm very protective of them. I won't let any harm come to them. So they feel safe with me. When they're with me, I've been told they feel really safe, everyone I've been with. Cause I've never hit them. I never hit a women.
JD: Which is odd considering your childhood.
DHN: I just can't. I can't bring myself to hit a woman. It's just not proper.
JD: Seems like it's part of your code of honor.
DHN: Ya.
JD: What would your code of honor be?
DHN: You never - never screw away - Never screw over any of your friends, or friends of friends. Never do anything that would jeopardize that. You know what I mean. Have respect for people, initially - um - It's changed now, now I try to give everybody respect, even if they don't deserve it.
JD: Why did that change?
DHN: Cause I found God.
JD: Ya?
DHN: Ya. So now things are different like I don't crime anymore. I'm not involved with crime or anything cause I found God.
JD: When did you do that? DHN: Five years ago.
JD: Five years ago. That was in prison I guess?
DHN: Um . . . 2007, roughly. But I always believed in him, I just never . . . I don't know, I never really took that on. So now it's different, so now I can't go do crime. Cause I can't . . . I just won't do it. I'll suffer through whatever, you know, hardships, and I know cause I have faith he will take care of me, and things will be taken care of. Roof over my head will be paid for. The food in the fridge will come. And the money will come. So now I live more on faith than I do self, I don't rely on me as much as I used to.
JD: Holy cow dude.
DHN: Now I rely on God. It's like ,"Okay, I know I got this and this and this and this coming up, and I have faith in you". Like I just landed a 72 hundred dollar quote, I got another 38 dollar quote, I got 12 second cups, (inaudible) and that's all personal.
JD: Wow
DHN: For me.
JD: That's -
DHN: That's my own payout. Than I got cooper stuff, and I work for another guy. Now we're getting ready to jump out of the one company and go to another company and start 30 bucks an hour. So that's good.
JD: That's very good.
DHN: You know that's like . . . 'bout 70 000 a year. JD: That's incredible dude.
DHN: That's good. You can live on it. Hahahaha
JD: Ya, you can live on that. Plus, you know, it's all legit.
DHN: . . . well, you know where it's coming from. It's coming from God, right. So, I haven't been tithing, I have to start doing that, and then get back the relationship. Cause I've been letting it slide, right. It's - I notice that things are starting to go to shit, cause I'm not - I haven't been paying enough attention.
JD: How are things going to shit?
DHN: I've just got to focus more -
JD: Like with the girl and all of that?
DHN: My anger. Garbage. Habits. Like, it's hard to turn around. I'm reading the bible more, praying more. You know, and stuff like that.
JD: Ya.
DHN: But than I'm hooked up with this crazy bitch.
JD: Ya
DHN: So that's - I don't think he likes that too much aye? Hahahahaha.
JD: I don't think so. No, not at all. It's - How do you feel about your-
DHN: (incomprehensible)
JD: . . . How do you feel about your mother today?
(pause)
JD: How do you feel about your mom today?
DHN: Well, she's my mom. I love her, right. And I forgive her. For all . . . it wasn't her fault she was probably raised up all fucked up to, right. And that in turn gets passed on from generation to generation. It's like a generation curse type of thing, right. And, you've got to break that chain. So I hope I've broken it. Well I don't have any kids. I didn't raise any kids up so, I won't know till I raise a kid. Maybe I'll never raise a kid. I don't know. (pause) I doubt it, I'm 46, kind of late now. The kid will be 14 and I'll be 60.
JD: Ya
DHN: You know it just doesn't add up, right. So . . . fuck it. Hahahahaha. (pause)
JD: Do you believe you became a better man than your parents intended?
DHN: Um, I don't think I'm living up to my potential right now. I'm fucking around. I've been using a little bit of dope now and then.
JD: Ya, how is that?
DHN: I just gotta stop, right.
JD: Ya, you've struggled with dope for a while.
DHN: Ya, it's not a steady thing, but it does screw you up no matter how much. Like when it's - even if it's not a consistent thing, it still screws you up. Right?
JD: Ya.
DHN: So I need to put that away. I'm planning on going to meetings everyday. You know, church or meetings. Everyday. Seven days a week . . .
JD: Ya well, it's hard to give up man -
DHN: and then I'll be okay. That's the plan. And get rid of this crazy bitch. Especially if you've got a crazy bitch coming over and throwing it on the table, (impersonating her) "Hey honey, here" (impersonating his lack of words in the situation) "errrrrrrrr" Hahahahah.
JD: shit.
DHN: Than she disrobes and I'm like, "I'm in" Hahahaha. (pause). She's had it rough too, but I can't help her. I got to get out of this. She'll killing me bro.
JD: Ya sounds like it.
DHN: I even went to church with her today and we had a talk I said, "Listen, you do this again. Beat it." And then she's, "I'll be here when you get back." I had to do a service call, right. I come back. She's gone. I'm like, "oh fuck". So I can't live like that.
JD: No man.
DHN: I've got to pack it in and tell her to go. Just out of self respect I've got to tell her to go.
JD: So -
DHN: Than she's like, "Well, if we're not together this way can we just be fuck friends?" Hahahaha. "I'll just come by and get your . . . you know, once in a while, is that okay?" I'm like, "Damn". Cause she's like hmmm hmmm (uses hands to show size of breasts, than rubs hands together), it's hard to say no. Hahahahaha.
JD: So are you going to do that?
DHN: Um . . . I don't think I should have anything to do with her. I think I should just write her off. That's . . . yep.
JD: That sounds smart.
DHN: It's going to be hard cause she's starting to get a little better. But, I don't know . . .
I can't do it. I've got to get the fuck away. (pause) And I like her mom, her mom's awesome, she's a really good Christian lady. And I'm going to, what was it, recovery meetings with her as well. It was a new thing I joined, and they do spinal alignment, and it's a life recovery groups. It's like a neighborhood, all the people just gather. It's like an AA meeting only not, it deals with mental disabilities, physical disabilities, as well as addiction.
JD: Cool
DHN: It's well founded and cool. And they actually - going to - trying to irradiate homelessness as well so I'm like, "Holy shit. Okay. I guess I belong here."
JD: Ya
DHN: So I've stayed with that.
JD: So we talked a little about how you struggled with drugs.
DHN: About what?
JD: When you started drugs.
DHN: Ya.
JD: Ya.
DHN: Oh awesome. Thank you. (plate drops in front of DHN). Oh boy am I getting fed good. Thank you lord. Hahahaha. Oh man, your mom and can cook awesome I tell ya. JD: I know man. I know. So, when did it get to be a really bad problem, the drugs? When did you realize that?
DHN: Well at first you use it as a - it's like a tool at first cause I was so insecure as a kid. I was actually terrified of women. I couldn't even talk to them till I started drinking at 12
. . . 13.
JD: Ya.
DHN: Liquid courage.
JD: Than you moved out at 15 so that helped a lot.
DHN: And then I . . . ya. And then I got to sleeping with them and I'm like, "Fuck ya this is great." Than I no longer had a fear of women. That's how that started. I'm not scared of them.
JD: Do you think you were scared of women cause of you ma?
DHN: . . . Pardon?
JD: Do you think you were -
DHN: No not anymore, but I used to be terrified of them.
JD: Do you think it was cause of your mom though?
DHN: Oh ya.
JD: Afraid they were going to try to stab you?
DHN: Ya, you never know. (pause) And the fear of being physically, not just physically, but emotionally abused and all that shit. Cause it wasn't just physical, it was emotional it was . . . the whole spectrum.
JD: Ya
DHN: If you heard the way we conversed back and forth it was disgusting. No son and fa- mother should speak to one another in that text. And ah . . . I still have that in me. If I'm hooked up with a girl and I care about her, and she inflicts pain on me, I can lash out like a rapier tongue. I can inflict pain on her just by talking to her. And it's kind of - it's a bad thing. A character defect I'm trying to work on. I have to take all this shit on and start counseling and everything else. But . . . fuck. It'll ruin my whole fucking life. Anyway -
JD: What?
DHN: It will ruin my whole life basically. That shit. But whatever, I'm still here. I'm still alive. I'm still ready to take out whoever comes my way. Hahahaha
JD: Ya man, and you're doing well.
DHN: I've got to try, instead of thinking of me, like I said, just focus on God. And I feel that if I focused on God and make it all about him, than everything will work.
JD: Not a bad plan.
DHN: It's the only way to go. I can't do it alone. So, I've got to give it to him. (lifting his arms) Here, it's all yours man.
JD: Ya.
DHN: Cause I'm at a pivotal point right now, I've just gotta - It could turn right bad, like right now, or it could be really good. It's one of those pivotal things in your life, and you have to go the right way or you're fucked. So that's what I'm trying to do.
JD: Like with the drugs?
DHN: Booze too I'm pretty bad. Well I drank a fucking 30 beers and a half of a 2/6 of gibsons in one night.
JD: Jesus
DHN: All in a span of 5 hours. I still walked and talked and made it to work the next day. Hahahaha. I don't know how I was still tanked in the morning. And all that drinking and shit is not cool. So, I'm shutting the shit show down.
JD: Why do you do it? DHN: Hmm?
JD: Why do you do it?
DHN: I don't know. Habit. JD: Just a habit?
DHN: Just a force of habit. It's just somewhere where I feel - it's weird, sometimes I'll be bored and I'll go get drunk. You know, I'll go to the bar. It's kind of cool, I'll go to the bar and I know which bar to go to and I got 2 or 3 girls hitting on me as soon as I
walk through the door and I'm like, "Hey (pats his chest) still got it." Hahahaha. Kind of cool.
JD: Do you think it's a -
DHN: It's socially acceptable you know. Whatever.
JD: And it's a lot of boredom right? Boredom's hard. Especially with the life that you led.
DHN: And loneliness too. Cause I don't really have a significant other in my life. This one here, whatever, she's a piece of ass. Period. A good one, but still not worth the headaches. Cause I kind of fell for her, and that's not good. And she fell for me but . . . whatever. She's too fucked up. So I got to get rid of her . . . or die.
JD: Or die. I'm sure you've seen a lot of that with drugs.
DHN: Oh ya I've seen a lot. My best friend died in my arms.
JD: Tell me about that.
DHN: We were friends from the age of ah . . . 14, so in like 1980. We became friends in 1980, and we stayed friends right through until it was about '96, and he died. I went to a party he was at and I went and got some heroin and I looked at him, he was drinking, so I go, "Okay". So I mix them up, we were banging it, so I turn around, and I did my half at that point and I go, "Okay, only do half of what is there. Wait ten minutes. And if you're not where you want to be do the other half. But if you do it all at once and it's too much you're dead." And he didn't listen. I went to take a piss, came back and his lips were blue and he was dead. And . . . fuck . . . it was bad. (pause) So that's shit. And I've had a lot of my friends - there was ten of us growing up, there are only two left, the rest of all died from ODs, stabbed, shot violently. It's all been violence or drugs for all of us because of the lifestyle we had. There is only me and one guy left alive, the rest are all dead.
JD: When did you get out? DHN: What do you mean?
JD: When did you decide to get out of the violence and the drugs?
DHN: Um . . . that happened in probably 2006 or '07, ya about 2007. Your mom and dad came, I was in jail, and they came to the jail. When they got in there it was different, it wasn't the normal thing, they were actually trying to converse instead of preach. And I kind of looked at your dad - I looked at your dad and was like, "Man, that guy looks pretty peaceful and content. I want what he's got." So the only way to get it is through God so I started pursuing God, and here's the result. I've got a good job, and I've got a bright future ahead if I aim the right way, like I said, and follow God I know that I'll have everything I need in life. Everything will be provided. That's all I got to do.
JD: Do you miss it? (life of crime)
DHN: Sometimes.
JD: Do you miss the rush?
DHN: Ya. Ya, sometimes, and the power, you know I had a lot of power at one time. I could make a phone call and have your house blown up. Someone would pull up and blow your house up or shoot you or whatever. Or I'd shoot ya, pull out a gun "fuck you" (impersonates gun) bump. Shit like that. I was carrying around mags, mac 10's, .9 mm's, .32 brownings semi-automatics, hand grenades, plastic explosives, rocket launchers. I could get anything I wanted. Get on the phone, "I need this" okay (impersonating a explosion) beeeeewwwww, Yeeha. Hahahaha. That's a rush. I felt like Al Capone or some shit. Then people feared me because of it. It wasn't really respect; it was just straight up fear because of the backup I had. I could make one call and they would vanish. Shit like that. Walking away from that was hard; I did it because I was public property. When you're involved with that kind of shit, organized crime, you become public property. You're under surveillance basically 24/7 by the cops. There's a squad - they had a 52 man squad on me for two years.
JD: Ya we talked about that.
DHN: And that sucks man. They know how many pieces of toilet paper you use to wipe your ass. It's no good. Hahahahaha. So I gave up that, but I still dabbled. I did this and that. Armed robberies and bla bla bla, but I just don't want to go there anymore. It's done.
JD: You want to be content?
DHN: Ya, I just want to be happy, content and that's it. I don't want the world I want what I need. Needs met, that's all I need. That's where I'm at.
JD: Do you think that's why it's hard to give up the drugs, cause you missing the rush?
DHN: Um . . . I don't know what it is with that. It's like I think about it and it disgusts me, and then another time I think about it and you know - when you're with a chick it's different to . . . it's fun. Hahahahaha. That's a rush. Ohhh baby. Hahahaha. Anyways, I've got to stop doing that. But ya it's - ya - I've got to cut it out. I know that. But ya - I think it's partly to do with the rush, the lifestyle, you know shit like that. But it's time to put that to bed and move on. Like I said I'm at a pivotal point now and I want to get involved in the same stuff your mom and dad do. I want to give back in there (pointing insinuating the prison), and try to help people in there so they see they don't have to be there. They can change. I did it. They can do it if I did it. If I can do it anybody can. So that's where I want to go with that, eventually.
JD: Eventually
DHN: Ya in my heart I'm ready, but I'm not ready yet. You know what I mean? I still have to take care of me a little bit more before I can actually commit to something like that. I've got to work on myself, and get all with recovery and like I said focus on God. I figure if I do that for a year, I'm not going to put a time frame on it, it could happen in a month where everything is all cool and I'm ready to roll. I don't know, depends on how fast he wants it to happen. That's not up to me, that's up to him. I put it in his ballpark so lets see what happens. It's his time not mine.
JD: Do you still see your folks?
DHN: I talk to them on the phone regularly. I visited them this summer. There were supposed to - they are supposed to come to (edited out) this summer. So I got to put in the futon so they can sleep in the house. I'll give them the bedroom. I got a new bed, king size I just picked up. I call it my playground cause it's so frickin' big. If you're with a chick and you roll them around, yeeha, you don't run out of space. Hahahahaha. It's fun. That's another thing I need to work on - I guess - I don't know. What the hell, I like sex, so what there is nothing wrong with that. It's all good.
JD: I'm just wondering about the relationship with your parents now considering what happening. Cause you went through a high level of cruelty.
DHN: Ya, I describe it to councilors and they told me it is nothing short of a horror story. I was also told it would take 20 years of counseling to get over it. And I don't believe that. I think if I can put it to God he can - it's almost gone, I've got a couple more things to deal with, but that part of it - I can feel the healing now cause I addressed another part of it. It just came up cause of this girl. She stirred shit up then boom. Shit flew out that I didn't know was there. I hit a guy in the head with a pair of channel locks and almost killed him, and shit like that. This was in a fit of rage and I was straight as a pin, I wasn't drinking or doing drugs. I black out when I get angry, so I need to address that cause that scares me. I'm going to end up dead or in jail. I don't want to go there so - I didn't know it was there until now. I thought I just got finished sorting that out. I had no clue it was there. I thought I dealt with this shit. It turns out I didn't deal with it so now I have to address it, and I am addressing it. I'm praying over it everyday. I can feel that change occurring inside. So I think it's being resolved, but he's doing it. That's kind of cool.
JD: That is very cool.
DHN: Fucking aye. You just got to have faith and then everything works.
JD: Is that what gives you joy?
DHN: Ya. Big time. Sometimes I get drunk off that.
JD: Really.
DHN: It's awesome man. I get this (mimes explosion) than I'll be driving down the street going, "holy shit" and I've got to pull over. I feel like I'm drunk but I'm not, it's just the Holy Spirit and that shit. Man, what a rush. That's better than any dope I've ever done. I'll tell you.
JD: Really.
DHN: So if I could have that constantly every day I'm cool with that. Just keep it coming. Hahahahaha.
JD: That's cool man.
DHN: I've gotten all of this for a reason. You know - I can actually feel people's feelings inside. You know, I can actually feel what they do. It's supposed to be some spiritual gift or something. I don't want to call it a gift or a curse, I don't know but anyway. Not everyone but I can pick up on some people. If I'm talking to them I can actually pick up what's in their heart and it's really - sometimes it's scary, sometimes it's not but . . . it's a gift. So I'm supposed to help people out I think cause that's part of it. I don't know.
JD: That's cool man.
DHN: Ya, so I want to do what he wants me to do. Instead of doing what I want to do cause if I do what I want to do I just end up in shit. So I'll do what he wants and I won't end up in shit anymore. I'll up a destitute with no food in the fridge and . . . fuck it. Whatever. Heart ache cause of stupid bitch. Actually, I don't feel any heart ache. I was kind of depressed till I got here and I'm okay now. I feel better.
]]>Watching the high speed car chases or struggles for power on the silver screen fuels an interest in crime that might be latent otherwise. After watching these types of movies, and when I need to buy groceries, I stand in the checkout line thinking to myself, "These groceries are going to put me back. It would be great if I didnʼt have to buy them. What if I just walked out of here without paying?" Iʼve always paid. Iʼve never gathered the strength to walk out. Though each time I pay, I can envision the exciting life I would lead if I hadnʼt.
The thought starts with the groceries, than eventually it leads to driving as fast as I can on a desert road in a flat-black 1969 dodge charger while shooting at the cops chasing me. I say this to show that, minor offenses aside, I know nothing about real crime.
Both my parents work for Prison Fellowship, which is an organization that tries to spread the message of God throughout prisons, because of this, my childhood house always had a couple more places set at our dinner table for an ex-convict or two. They sit and talk with us about how hard it is to get over drugs, or how much the miss the rush of their old life. In one particular instance, during one of his many visits to our house, I asked one in particular if I could hear his story of how he made it into the big time of crime. He agreed.
DHN: Let's see, the first memory of Ma was Ma holding a- grabbing my hair and holding a knife to my throat at about four. Telling me she was going to cut my head off. Thinking that's normal. Um, she used to throw knives at me. I was the best dodgeball player on earth. Hehehehe. (pause) Than I moved onto getting kicked out of school in grade kindergarden, because I wasn't paying attention in class, the teacher asked me what her name was, and she asked me again, and I told her her name was Miss Fuckface, and I was asked to leave the school.
J.D.: You serious in kindergarten? You said Miss Fuckface?
DHN: Miss Fuckface. Ya.
J.D.: Miss Fuckface. Not Mrs? She didn't have a Mr. Fuckface at home?
DHN: No. Well, I don't know. That was my name for her. (pause) I think I started
stealing in grade 2. It started as a joke, going in to see if I could steal a bag of Caramilk bars.
J.D.: Ya?
DHN: Ya, a bag of Caramilk bars. I scooped it, got away with it, and I was like "Cool" cause I was all nervous eh. When I got away with it, it was a rush. So I got hooked on the rush. And, as I grew older the more- the larger the thing I stole, the more value that was on the object, or whatever, the bigger the rush. So I started breaking into safes.
J.D.: You still with your mom at this point?
DHN: No. I moved outta the house at 15 cause I couldn't handle it. I was getting drunk everyday at 12 or 13 just to go home to deal with the bullshit.
J.D.: Must have been pretty heavy.
DHN: Ya. I would come home from school, "What's for supper ma?". "Whatever the fuck your cooking yourself". Hehehehe
J.D.: Holy.
DHN: So, that was the life and times of me when I was a kid. J.D.: Where is your dad in this?
DHN: Either at work or sitting on the couch watching TV. J.D.: He never tried to intervene?
DHN: No. I got whipped with electrical chords. Cigarettes put out in my face. Knifes thrown at me, various objects. Cans of soup, like full cans of soup.
J.D.: That was the both of them? DHN: Just my mom.
J.D.: Just your mom? Your dad was just passi- DHN: He docilely sat there till I flipped out. J.D.: He's kind of an asshole.
DHN: That sorta ended at 13, that's when I was too big. She pulled a knife, threatened to stab me. I took the knife from her, threw it into the wall. Picked her up, carried her to her room. Threw her on her bed and said, "Don't ever pull a knife on me again or I'll stick it in you."
J.D.: Ya, no shit.
DHN: And that ended that ordeal, but I got a licking when my dad came home . . . a good licking. (impersonating his father) "Take it like a man son!" "Screw you" (makes sound of fast wind) Hehehehehe. Catch me if you can't. Hehehehehe. (pause) Than when I hit 15 the reason I moved out cause I was, uh, I screwed my knee up. I was working.
J.D.: Where were you working?
DHN: I was a short order cook at the Happy Wanderer restaurant in Niagara Falls.
J.D.: Happy Wanderer.
DHN: German food. And uh, I blew out my knee. I was smoking pot. My mom ratted me out to the doctor that I was doing drugs. So the doctor refused to give me pain killers for the knee.
J.D.: Cause of pot?
DHN: Cause of pot. My knee was like a football. So, I knew some people in Niagara Falls New York that were doing angel dust. So I did a rail of that and I was doing cartwheels. I couldn't feel shit right, it was all good. When I came home one night after doing my stint of dust my dad was waiting up and said, "Where the fuck were you?", "Well I was out partying. What do you think". Well, than he punched me. Can't remember where, but it didn't hurt and I laughed. He took that the wrong way and started punching me in the face. So I came off with - I don't know what you call it, that shot - up and down? (demonstrates)
J.D.: A Haymaker.
DHN: And I caught him right in the horn and broke his nose right. And then I went
"Oh fuck", cause he was 3 times the size of me. I was just 15. I was a kid. So I booked it, and never went home after that right. Hehehehe. (pause) Moved in with my cousin for a while, that was a party, 27 years old. I was going to strip bars at 15 and shit.
J.D.: Oh, your cousin was 27? DHN: He was 27. I was 15.
J.D.: Must have been an old looking 15 year old.
DHN: I had to shave. J.D.: Really?
DHN: Yep. So, I was going to strip bars and all that. By the time I hit 19 strip bars were boring. Seen 'em all. I didn't even reach legal age to go out.
J.D.: You were saying, "fuck tits I've seen 'em all",
DHN: Ya they're all the same, their all pink in the middle. Hehehehehe. Somehow, when I was living on my own, I was still staying in school. I managed to stay in school.
J.D.: On your own accord?
DHN: Yep. And I was robbing motel offices, like um, without them knowing it, at 15. So I was stealing all their money and they didn't even know I was stealing it. I never got caught. I had a trick I used to do. It took them a long time It took them like 5 years to catch me. So I kept myself alive that way for 5 years. I earned more money than my father at 15. I took home more money than he did.
J.D.: What did your dad do?
DHN: He worked for the city. So he was making good money. But I made better money. Hehehehe. I was selling dope and all that stuff right.
J.D.: It's a hard job selling dope because a lot of people seem to be doing it. DHN: Well in high school it was easy. I was rolling. I had 3 or 4 girls that I used to sit with on the bus on my way to school. They would keep an eye out while I was rolling doobies on the way to school to sell.
J.D.: So you were a ladies man even then?
DHN: Ya, and I would be like, "Here girls, here's your doobie for keeping six", and give each a joint. Than I would get really good pot, and I would end up skipping school and going - I was going to a catholic school in grade 9 - so I would skip school and go to the canal bank with some girl. Instead of going to school I said, "fuck school".
J.D.: And go out necking, why not.
DHN: So we would go to the canal band and party. Drink beer and smoking. It was all good.
J.D.: Doesn't sounds so bad.
DHN: I was doing bumps. I was doing acid. I had a list of drugs I wanted to try at 15.
J.D.: You did the acid.
DHN: I was doing acid at 14. J.D.: That's intense.
DHN: Dust, speed, And all this other shit right. Robbing hotel rooms. J.D.: Robbing hotel rooms?
DHN: Well not the rooms but the offices. And they never caught me. I got one and uh, I was 15 I ripped off about 25 hundred dollars cash. This was in 1980. So now it would be like, huge right. When I 18 I ripped off a place for 10 thousand cash. That turned into a 2 week party extravaganza in Toronto. That was a lot of fun. I started at the Royal York; got kicked out of the Royal York. Went to the Harvard Castle; got kicked out of the Harvard Castle. Went to the Sheraton; got kicked out of the Sheraton.
J.D.: Holy shit you must have been- you were a rupple rouser.
DHN: Ya I even puked in the elevator and everything right. We had one bar we used to go to first thing in the morning, I had a wicked hangover. It was called the Mug. I would go in there, and the girl knew me so well she would grab me a giant- it was called a mug cause it was a giant mug of beer size of a pitcher, and three shots of Gran Marnier. That was breakfast. Either that or a half a 40 of jack daniels. Hehehehe.
J.D.: You know Jack Daniel's well enough to call him Jimmy.
DHN: Ya, so that was that one. I was seeing a girl and my liquor there ended that.
J.D.: What girl were you seeing?
DHN: I was going with her for 3 years. I started when I was 16, she was 19. So she taught me lots. The 3 year difference was big back when you're 16 and she's 19, that's huge right.
J.D.: I've had something like that.
DHN: Ya they teach you all kinds a neat tricks, so you can try it out on the new girls. Ya I learned lots. I learned how to handle a thing or two at a young age. When I was younger I would go with older girls, and now that I'm older I go with younger girls. About 10-12 years younger than I am. Just so they can keep up. Hehehehehe. J.D.: You're a dog.
DHN: Ya, I never did anytime till I was 21 years old. I managed to duck and dive the legal system till I was 21. At 21 I got my first sentence of 7 months. Cakewalk.
J.D.: What did you do for the 7 months?
DHN: I had 13 charges. I got silly. I got too drunk, and I did 15 B&E's in one night. I got caught on the last one. They couldn't prove all the other ones, but they knew it was me right. So I ended up getting 7 months on one B&E or some shit like that, can't remember. So I did that, got out, started hanging out with the crazy fuckers I met in jail. I remember stealing, when I was 14 or 15 we stole 3 cars, and we went into a field and played smash up derbie with stolen cars. It was fucking fun. When the cops show up we all bail and run. We all get away. It was fun man. Especially when the cops show up, "The cops are here. Run away!" We all looked like the coyote and the roadrunner. You just saw this blur. Shoo. Gone. Big blurs running down the road. (pause) When we used to smuggle booze from the States to Canada, we would go to the States and get booze for - a 60 pounder for 13 bucks. In Canada it was 50 bucks or some shit, something crazy. So we would go over there and buy the booze. Over by the Rainbow Bridge there's land that goes underneath a road, before you get to the sights. We would have a guy there with a jacket catching the bottles. We dropped it, doop, so we did the same with drugs. Big duffle bag, big bags of dope, and throw it over the side. Dope from the States, we would drop it over the side and then sell it. We got away with it too for a long time. They finally they caught a guy, not us, but they caught someone doing it. He went down for it. So we can't do that no more. It was fun while it lasted.
J.D.: How did you guys figure out who was doing what, that one guy got caught for doing that? Did the word spread?
DHN: I think the word spread on the bottle thing, cause we kind of let people know, but we didn't tell anyone about the dope right. So I think the word spread on that. I know people started doing other shit and one guy got pinched, I don't know what he got pinched for, if it was dope or - not sure, but he got pinched dumping something over the side and another guy catching it. So now they got camera surveillance all over that. So can't do it no more. Back then you could get away with it. You could cross the train bridge into the States, drop onto the train and take the train across.
J.D.: Seems like you guys had a tight community.
DHN: Ya, it was easy. I had buddies in the States. I seen a guy get shot right in the face when I was 15 with a 12 gauge.
J.D.: Why?
DHN: We were sitting there partying on the porch. Me and another guy - I don't know there were 4 our 5 of us, mostly Americans. I got in with them I brought in a case of Blue, Labatt, cause they were drinking that frigin' pony piss. American beer eh. I was like, "This ain't fucking beer. I've drank 20 beers and I'm still walking. Nay." So I thought I'll take care of this. So I go in there with a 2/4 of Blue, "Hey check this out". My buddy drank 3 beer and was catching a buzz and was like, "Holy fuck that was good beer" and I was like "Ya that's real beer buddy. You got good beer". It was cool man.
J.D.: Ya, so why did your buddy get shot?
DHN: Oh! The guy next door, wasn't our friend it was just a neighbor. All's I hear is "Don't shoot me baby", this black guy right, and we hear this gunshot. Bang! And everyone runs, it's fucked up over there, everyone runs outside with a weapon: Nunchuks, fuckin' machetes, guns, whatever right, to see what's going on. In the States it's weird. We all go out, we're watching, and this guy comes barreling onto the floor, and he's yelling at her again, "Don't shoot me baby!" He falls and she walks out and shoots in the face with a 12 gauge. She winged him, he fell, than she shot him in the face. She stood over his body with a smoking gun till the cops showed up. Hehehehe. Than the cops show up, everybody's got weapons behind their back hidden away from the scene, they ditch the weapons and then come back out without the weapons. It took them a half hour to get there for this. Half hour for the cops to get there after someone got shot in the face with a 12 gauge.
J.D.: Where was this?
DHN: Niagara Falls New York. I used to go over there drinking all the time. They had a drink and drown and a late show. Girls paid 4 bucks or 4.50. Guys paid 6 or 6.50. Canadian money accepted at par. They stamp your hand, give you an empty glass and it's bottomless. How can you go wrong? Hehehehehe. One night I drop two hits of acid, go in, and I'm fuckin' just pounding them right. Then I went to another drink and drown party, and I was drinking large there, and I couldn't find the bridge. I could only see 10 feet cause I was so hammered. So my buddy had to escort me to the bridge, like onto the bridge. I'm looking and I'm like, "Where's the bridge?" He said, "just go straight". I look up and I see the girders and go, "Oh, right on dude!" Hehehe. I get to the other side and the customs guy is like, "Citizenship?" - "Fucking Canadian Eh!" He goes, "Keep going".
J.D.: That was at 15 or 16? DHN: About 15 ya.
J.D.: Was it 17 you got the 7 month sentence?
DHN: No at 21. Took me until 21 till I got put in jail. I got probation when I was 17 for 18 months. I made it through that.
J.D.: Where was your first time?
DHN: Fort Detention Center. The next time I got pinched I got, I think I got 10 months or something. Than I ended up getting shipped to - oh no I didn't get shipped. Than I went to Burtch Correctional Centre.
J.D.: For stealing?
DHN: Ya. B&E's, thefts, little bit of violence, assault, reference charges, shit like that. Nothing major. They caught me for the bullshit, I got away with all the good stuff. Hehehehe. They caught me for the partying afterwards. So I finished going all that crap, I moved to London. I tried to go on the straight and narrow in about '89.
J.D.: Why?
DHN: I got tired of doing time. I did 2 1/2 years out of 3 in jail and I said, "fuck this, it's a losing battle. Let's try something else." So I picked up my high school diploma while I was in the joint, in Burtch Correctional Centre. I applied to Humber College, Fanshawe College, and George Brown College. Got accepted at all three. Chose Fanshaw cause the cost of living is cheaper in London than it is in Toronto, by far. So I moved to London and completed a 2 year course as a technician, and I graduated. Worked in the services as a service technician. For 2 years, maybe 2 1/2 years. I got really hammered, at my grad, and I blacked out, did a B&E, got pinched.
J.D.: You blacked out than did a B&E?
DHN: Ya I don't remember doing it. I woke up in a cell. I came to in a cruiser for a second, than when I came to in the cell I asked myself 'what the fuck did I do?'
J.D.: Must be freaky to know that the very base of you can do that.
DHN: I felt it. I felt it coming. I was trying to bail out of the party. No phone. So I said, "Where's the nearest phone", and I was heading towards the phone. The next thing I knew I was in a prison cell.
J.D.: That's kind of creepy. To know that if you black out you'll do a B&E. When I black out and I pass out.
DHN: I've never passed out or puked. I never got sick or nothing, I would just go out and do something stupid. Punch someone out or stab them, whatever, anything: Shoot somebody. Stab somebody. Rob somebody. Anything. So I got scared when I felt it coming I tried to go home.
J.D.: What stopped you?
DHN: No phone. I was trying to call a cab. Hehehehehe.
J.D.: (impersonation) Damn you why don't we have cellphones yet.
DHN: So I ended up getting a - I had a buddy of mine in London who owned a tow truck company who wrote me a job letter. Than I had another buddy that was doing designated driving, free limo service for drunk drivers, he told me I was doing that for him so I had a job as leverage, submit it into the courts. I beat the system and got out of jail in 2 weeks on a 9 month sentence. I was out 2 weeks later in a halfway house, and of course you get parole. Than I fucked the parole up, yadda yadda, and was in jail some more.
J.D.: How did you fuck up the parole? Old habits? B&E's, drugs.
DHN: Ya. And then when I went in I got shipped. Oh ya, I had charges in Niagra Falls. I punched a guy out in a bar. Broke three ribs. Broke his cheekbone. Broke his jaw. Broke his nose. Fucked him right up. Ya, and, I got charged for that right. Assult, common battery right.
J.D.: I guess you were a scrapper for a while.
DHN: Ya. So I go back there, they ship me from London bucket end up in the
Toronto East on a long weekend. So I got stuck there for 2 weeks red bagged. So I can't get access. I've got three cartons of smokes and a bunch of canteen money and it's locked up in a bag, and I'm transfered. I'm getting pissed eh. And the East is fucked up back then, it's about '90 . . . '91 I think?
J.D.: How old are ya then?
DHN: Uhh . . . I don't know (whispered numbers) 27? Something in there. Late
20s right.
J.D.: Wanna take a smoke break?
DHN: Ya okay . . . This is funny. You're going to laugh at this one. J.D.: I think so
CUT (Smoke Break)
DHN: Okay where was I? J.D.: Toronto East.
DHN: I'm in Toronto East I'm red bagged, bla bla bla tripping on a couple of wounds. Wanting to get home, back to Niagara. I try to get a phone so I can get money, cause I'm stuck there 2 weeks so I can buy a canteen cause I'm redbagged and I can't get money. Three days go by, during which time an illiterate Jamaican fella had me help him write a letter to his buddy in the pen. So I asked him what he wanted to say in the letter, and then we became friends. Than the Jamaicans were hogging the phones, I was waiting three days. Finally someone hung up the phone, actually put it on the cradle. I grabbed it, made a call to my old lady tell her, "Listen, bring me money to the Toronto East right fucking now cause I need cigarettes now." So while that's happening,
I'm yaking to her and all of a sudden this guy comes up, "Yo man that's my phone man". So I whisper to the old lady, "Hang on, I gotta take care of something." So I go, "here buddy here's your phone man, sorry about that dude." He got close enough I clocked him in the chicklets, took his teeth out, threw him on the ground, wrapped the chord around his neck, gave him three shots in the face, kicked him in the ass and said, "Yo, it's mine now fuck you." Hehehehe. With marks from the chord on his neck hey. Hehehehehehe. This goes down right, so I get back on the phone with the old lady. Hey ya, I took care of that fuckhead, he's done. In about 10 seconds it was finished right. Than I look over and then I see 5 of them conjugated with pencils. So I go, "Oh baby, this don't look good. I think I'm going to be Shish Kabobed." Hehehehehe. You know?
So fuckin' ah, now it's fuckin' fuck it right, and I go, "Hang on if I don't come back I'm Shish Kabobed, in the hospital or dead." So I drop the phone. Than I fuckin' stepped up and go, "Okay come on motherfuckers lets rock, I ain't taking your shit no more." Well the Jamaican guy I helped just finished doing a bit in Collins Bay, which is a rough pen back home. Gladiator school was the nickname of it.
J.D.: What?
DHN: People are shanking each other with swords and shit, homemade swords. J.D.: Gladiator School.
DHN: Ya Gladiator School, that's what they called it right. So he comes up beside
me and then my roommate, this french guy, R--- R----, I still remember his name. And he goes, "Ah, kill the nigger. I get them. I kill them all." He's just howling. So now there's 3 on 5, well the odds weren't good for them now so they back off. So I'm saved. I'm like, "fucking cool." Then one of the guy comes up and hands me a smoke. Then I'm like, "Well fuck me, if all I had to do was punch one of you fucks in for a cigarette I would
have done it 3 days ago." Hehehehehehe. (pause) So I finally get shipped to Niagara. I get there and I get hooked into the kitchen. I bump into this dude, something of a crime family in Toronto. We start negotiating and talking, I think he's full of shit I don't know for sure. So I get out, and low and behold he shows up at my house. He's got a stack of
50s on him. He hands me a 50 dollar bill, and I go, "Cool man, I'll go buy a couple more boxes of beer and party it up, I got steaks on the barbie." He takes it back and burn it. I go, "What are you doing? That's good money buddy". He goes, "Ain't real, it's counterfeit. Here's 8 grand this is what I want for it." So I take the 8 grand, flip it, make money off of that. I take a key (kilo) of hash, flip it, make money off of that. I take a quarter pound of coke, flip that, make money off of that. All in one shot. And a quarter pound of oil. One road trip I made about 8 thousand dollars cash in about 4 1/2 hours.
J.D.: That's incredible
DHN: Ya, in the pocket. All of it was on the cuff. I didn't pay for shit. They hand me a bunch of shit. They hand me a .32 browning, A clip, and another clip full and said, "Away you go. If anyone gives you trouble shoot them." I go, "okay". Hehehehehe.
J.D.: What's going through your head at this time?
DHN: Cool. Hehehehehe. I go, "Right on I hit the big time on crime." So I made- in 2 1/2 months I earned 60 thousand cash. Real money. Plus - that was put away - all the expenses were paid for. Plus this. Plus that. Like, go to a bar - we went to Rasputin's in Toronto, Russian owned bar, sit down and "Hey boy how are you, bring vodka." We sit down drink and drink, we're playing cards, and we got girls under the table giving us head while we're playing cards. Hehehehehehehe.
J.D.: Holy shit.
DHN: "Which girl you want, take home." Hehehehe, I wanna take that one. Ya so fringe benefits right, shit like that. Throwing shit at you. They go, "here here here", everything was free. I could have made a phone call and had your house blown up. It was that cool right. I felt like Al - like Scarface or some shit. Al Capone.
J.D.: Probably dressed to the 9's.
DHN: Oh ya: suit, 3 1/4 inch trench coat, another trench, briefcase, short hair cut, tie. I looked like a business man. I was, but it was the wrong kind of business. Hehehehehe. Meanwhile the cops are taking pictures of everything. At the end of this they did a background checks on my grandparents, my parents, my sister, what kind of money they spent at the store. (impersonating cop) "What they spend a 50? Give it." And then they'd check it to see if it was real or not. All this shit going down.
J.D.: Why your grandparents?
DHN: Well they were looking for Mafia ties back home. Italy right. Cause my grandparents are from Italy. They thought I had ties to Italy, and the mafia, cause I was involved in this. Cause I got pinched in- um, that bank robber guy I was telling you about earlier?
J.D.: Ya.
DHN: I don't wanna mention a name but anyway. Well, that guy was hooked into our crew. There was 11 of us. And we were charged with conspiracy to possess counterfeit currency. And I go, "What you make that fucking up?" Planning to possess? I think you just made it up. J.D.: It sounds made up
DHN: They did make it up. I ended up getting a 4 in 1 sentence of all of this. And it took them 3 years to go to court. And it was a black cloud over me for fucking 3 years. I was under surveillance. 52 cops were on our case for 2 or 3 years. They had a task force on us, especially for the drugs. Late 20s.
J.D.: Late 20s.
DHN: Yep. This was in the '90s, this was like '91, '92, '93. J.D.: Were you still doing business?
DHN: Oh ya. I was under surveillance. I would go in the front door, jump out the back window. I had a car in another girls name, not my old lady, but another girl. I was always seeing like 3 of them. So I had my old lady and I had my 2 girlfriends. So I had it in her name, parked it in a church parking lot. So I would: go in the front door, jump out the back window, jump over the fence, jump in the other car, do my business real quick, jump back into the window, cook the kid's breakfast. Then when I read my disclosure it says, 'target bla bla bla, seen entering the house at this time. Target bla bla bla, seen leaving home at this time'. Meanwhile there's this big 12 hour gap. I'm like, "Ya!" It was fun, just fucking with them was fun.
J.D.: So that's how you got into the big time? DHN: Ya, that's how I got into that stuff.
J.D.: Just some guy?
DHN: Ya, just bumped into him. Well, we knew the same people. Just cause - well we knew the same people. Than we clicked and we got into stealing 60 foot trailers full of shit - electronics - those transport semi-rigs full, steal them, and we would sell them off- we would have them sold before we took them.
J.D.: How would you steal them?
DHN: We would steal the rig, or you go to a truck-stop and wait till they go into eat, jack it, hotwire the fucker and drive away. Hehehehe. They caught me with a GPS with the last one I did. Did 18 months in Remand. I beat it on the charges. Hehehehehe. J.D.: Ya you got the . . . like you were saying.
DHN: Gotta learn how to fuck with the system, early. Learn how to manipulate it so I got minimal time. Do a crime so I got minimal time, and I always got minimal time.
]]>Shots rang out inside a closed bedroom in the Redpath mansion on Sherbrooke Street at approximately 6:00 p.m. on the evening of June 13, 1901.
Peter Redpath rushed up the stairs and burst into his mother's bedroom where he saw the bodies of his mother, 56 year old Ada Mills Redpath, and his brother, 24 year old Jocelyn Clifford Redpath, lying on the floor a few feet apart in pools of blood. A revolver lay on the floor next to Clifford. Both mother and son had gunshot wounds to the head. Doctors were immediately called to the house. Ada Redpath died shortly thereafter; Clifford was barely alive and was taken to the Royal Victoria Hospital where he succumbed to his wounds a short time later.
This was the general story reported at the time of the incident. The initial thinking was that Clifford was killed in an attempt to stop his ailing and depressed mother from committing suicide.[1] Unfortunately, the "evidence" given by witnesses became more and more contradictory and confusing, making solving of the mystery impossible. Now, 111 years later, curiosity still abounds concerning the events of that night.
Contradictory Evidence
At the coroner's inquest the very next day, Peter stated that Clifford appeared ill and tired upon his arrival home that fateful evening. He proceeded directly to his mother's bedroom and a few seconds later, shots were heard.[2] Another recounting has it that an argument ensued before the shooting. Peter was also later to have said that Clifford was homosexual and went to see his mother, most probably to tell her, hence the ensuing argument.
Initial reports indicated that two shots were heard, but in the Coroner's report, three shots Peter declared to having heard three. The number of wounds to mother and son are also contradictory. Did Ada have only one shot to the back of her head or one to the head and one in the shoulder? Clifford was reported to have one shot to the left temple; another newspaper report had it situated in the forehead over the left eye.[3] A change to the site could indicate something other than a self-inflicted wound.
Doctors were called to the scene, yet shockingly, police were never notified of the accident, only finding out about it incidentally. One of the doctors at the scene reported that some foam was evident in Clifford's mouth, signs of an epileptic seizure. This gave rise to the theory that Clifford had shot his mother to cease her suffering and then shot himself while experiencing a grand mal seizure, thus making him not responsible for his behaviour. Although the family's physician, Dr. Thomas Roddick, maintained that Clifford was a known epileptic, no mention is made in the extensive family diaries that Clifford ever suffered from epilepsy. If Clifford did indeed commit suicide, why are there no suicides listed for that year in the city of Montreal for June of 1901?[4] It is interesting to note here that Dr. Roddick, the family physician who gave evidence at the inquest, later married Amy.
The number of revolvers found at the scene also differs. In the coroner's report, Peter himself reported that one revolver was found, but, at the same inquest, Dr. Hugh Patton swore that there were two. One of the household staff, Mary Rose Shallow, stated that she had never seen a revolver in Ada's bedroom. Two revolvers instead of one give rise to yet another theory, one in which someone else shot the pair.
Ada died on the scene, but Clifford, barely clinging to life, was sent to the Royal Victoria Hospital where he died a short while later. No hospital records exist documenting this crisis.
Clifford's and Ada's states of mind that night are also called into question. The fact that Clifford recently paid the fee to sit the bar exam less than one month hence does not support the theory that he was unhappy and stressed to the point of depression and suicide. A dinner party planned for that evening does not support the theory that Ada would attempt suicide, either. Amy, who controlled the household, would have been overseeing the preparations, yet there was no mention of her part in the happenings of that evening. Where was Amy in all of this?
Finally, the speed with which the whole situation was over and done with is unusual. The deaths occurred on a Thursday, the coroner's inquest was held at the mansion the following day, and the bodies were buried within 48 hours. Amy succeeded in quashing any mention of the tragedy and in a very short time no one mentioned either Ada, Clifford, or their deaths.[5]
Reasons for the Cover Up
The Victorian sensibilities of the time were such that unpleasant or embarrassing events were not to be acknowledged in order to maintain personal privacy and public respectability. Appearances had to be kept up. [6]. The conflicting information concerning the events of that night makes for interesting theories as to what really happened and shows how easy it was for the rich elite of the time living in the Golden Square Mile to cover up and make disappear something as serious as murder. One can only speculate that perhaps the confusion was deliberately orchestrated, intended to make an unpleasant event go away and to deflect any deep investigation into the matter. While we can only guess at what really happened that evening, only those present knew what happened.
Photo credits:
1. Title: Mrs. John Redpath's House, Sherbrooke Street, Montreal, QC, 1899
Creator: Wm. Notman & Son
Archive or Repository: Musée McCord Museum
Reference Number: II-129781
Notes: The Redpath home at 1065 Sherbrooke St. West was designed by Montreal architect John James Browne in 1870. For more information about this image please click here.
2. Title: Mrs. J.J. Redpath and Child, Montreal, QC, 1871
Creator: William Notman
Archive or Repository: Musée McCord Museum
Notes: Photographer William Notman shot this portrait of Ada Maria Mills Redpath with her only daughter and eldest child Amy Redpath in 1871. For more information about this image please click here.
3. Title: Mr. J.C. Redpath, Law graduate, Montreal, QC, 1900
Creator: Wm. Notman & Son
Archive or Repository: Musée McCord Museum
Reference Number: II-133577
Notes: Jocelyn Clifford Redpath graduated from law at McGill University in 1900. For more information about this image please click here.
Works Cited
[1] Unknown. "Mother and Son Dead." The Globe (Toronto) June 14, 1901
[2] Coroner's Report, Ada Maria Mills Redpath, June 14, 1901
[3] Unknown. "Coroner Holds Inquest." The Gazette (Montreal), June 15, 1901
[4] Adams, Annmarie, Valerie Minnett, Mary Anne Poutanen, and David Theodore. ""She must not stir out of a darkened room": The Redpath Mansion Mystery." Material Culture Review / Revue de la culture matérielle [Online], 72 (2010): n. pag. Web. 13 Sep. 2012
[5] Hustak, Alan. "Redpath Mansion Mystery Revived", The Gazette (Montreal), March 31, 2008
[6] Victorian Values An Introduction, compiled by Susan Bayley, Humanities Department, Dawson College, Fall 2008, pg. 24
]]>Everywhere we look, we see traces of man's inhumanity toward man; we see the results of pride and greed and hatred in our morning papers, and on our evening news. There are many dangers in this world, some real and some imagined. There are men who have risen to such power, that they rule with an iron hand in many parts of our cities. Pride, greed and hatred give evil men the power to carry out any evil deed often undetected. As long as some parts of our cities remain poor and desolate, as long as people are desperate enough to hope for a change or a new life, as long as politicians and law enforcement look the other way, as long as there is corruption in our legal system, as long as there is greed, as long as there are men and women filled with hatred, La Cosa Nostra remains a very real and present threat in our societies.
Image source: Flickr
Most of you have probably never heard of Zahida Parveen. This is simply due to the fact that the world hides one of the worse atrocities women face, honor crime. Parveen, a Pakistani woman, whose husband believed she was having an affair dragged her out of bed on December 20, 1998 and committed the worse: he mutilated her face and body, leaving her screaming in pain in her own bloodshed like a dead dog. Parveen is one of the many victims of honor crime but fortunately one of the few survivors. Most honor crime cases go unreported, which leaves the rest of the world in the dark about these atrocities. You may wonder how such cruelty exists but that is the beginning of many untold stories. Honor crime is the killing of a family member due to the belief that someone has dishonored the name of the family and deserves to die. Women are the primary victims of honor crime, as in certain societies they are perceived by the males' as being immature and imbecilic. Despite the fact that honor crime has been practiced for thousands of years, sanctions that are in place today to prevent it are rarely enforced. Thus, laws have failed to discourage the continuance of honor crime in Iran and Pakistan, in particular; however, recent international campaigns have been formed to bring awareness to the subject and are achieving some success, even so its extinction remains an ongoing battle.
Most countries have established severe sanctions against the practice of honor crime; however, certain countries where its practice still exists have formed only limited sanctions. The Persian land, Iran, follows Sharia law based on Islamic ruling. Iran laws justify the reasoning of honor crime, in Article 220 of the Iranian Civil Code, "if father or father's father killes his child or grand child, he will not be punished for murder (Iran Human Right, 2009)." Thus, The Republic of Iran approves the concept of honor crime and believes that the removal of such a law will not follow their beliefs. Moreover, in Pakistan, most killers of honor crime are not prosecuted, and infrequently will they be taken to court, but even then their sentence would only be two to three years maximum. Pakistan has a high level of honor crime and five thousand women are killed in the name of honor crime every year. I would like to share a story that happened in Pakistan and that has brought the attention of the international community:
Samia, 28, arrived at the Lahore law offices of Hina Jilani and Asma Jahangir, who are sisters, on April 6. She had engaged Jilani a few days earlier, because she wanted a divorce from her violent husband. Samia settled on a chair across the desk from the lawyer. Sultana, Samia's mother, entered five minutes later with a male companion. Samia half-rose in greeting. The man, Habib-ur-Rhemna, grabbed Samia and put a pistol to her head. The first bullet entered near Samia's eye and she fell. "There was no scream. There was dead silence. I don't even think she knew what was happening," Jilani said. The killer stood over Samia's body, and fired again. Jilani reached for the alarm button as the gunman and Sultana left. "She never even bothered to look whether the girl was dead."(Gendercide, n.d)
Once the story was revealed, the Pakistani upper class ruled for the prosecution of the two lawyers, but the police did not condemned them. Women who live in such societies end up living in fear and men feeling powerful than ever. On the other hand, countries like Jordan, Egypt, Syria and Lebanon, which embrace similar cultural principles have all established strong sanctioned against honor crime.
Moreover, Canada has been the victim of honor crimes. The Parvers, an immigrate family who established itself in Mississauga, Ontario, but unable to adapt to the western lifestyle. Their daughter, Aqsa Parvez, has had many conflicts with her father as she refused to wear the Hijab (Islamic veil) and wished to wear western clothes. At the start, her father agreed to let her wear what she desired since Aqsa spoke to her high school counselor and said that she believed her father was going to kill her. Eventually, that did not stop her father from committing the worse. On December 10, 2007, Aqsa's brother, Waqas Parvez, killed his sister. The father and son, both decided that it would be better killing Aqsa than to have her disobey their words and dishonor the family. Nevertheless, Muhammad and Waqas were both sentenced to life in prison, but the life of Aqsa will not be brought back (CBC News: Aqsa Parvez's father, brother get life sentence, 2010). The Muslim community responded through online comment to the published article and wrote that justice has finally been made.
As the deep continuance of honor crime in countries is in a rise, certain communities have formed campaigns to bring international awareness. The Kurdish Women Action Against Honour Killing (KWAH), established in London by Kurdish, non-Kurdish and lawyers their primary goal is to alert the international society and help victim in distress. The United Nation has worked against the elimination of honor crime, and non-governmental organization in Pakistan have worked on the modification of the Islam law, which does not prevent nor condemn the predator of honor crime. Despite the help of international campaign, honor crime is still practiced as the blockade of it can only take place by the people themselves. Education may be the key for a change in the near future, because countries like Pakistan and Iran forbid their women to complete their studies, as they will be exposed to men and to unfaithful matters, which leaves them uneducated and submissive. Parents, where some are illiterate, believe a woman is only good for breeding and cooking. However, if women receive education and men continue fighting in organization for the establishment of severe sanctions against honor crime then we can hope for a rightful future. The new generation is becoming more educated and their values are changing and all is hoping for a change.
In general, people do not approve honor crime nor believe that the practice of it should continue. However, naysayers believe that a halt to the subject is somehow impossible. Even though we believe that we must bring an end to this sanctified murder, governments have decided to let those regions handle their own problems.
I would want you to imagine for a second being in the place of one those victims, being forced into marriage at a premature age, not being able to maintain the life you have now, but on the other hand being a prisoner in someone's house that you do not even love and who constantly rapes you. Do you think that a two years sentence would bring justice to your misery? Victims of honor crime are dead, some because of false rumors, others because they wanted to be free and wear clothes that seemed inappropriate to their families, others wanted to meet a boy, but they all ended dead. How could a mother or a father kill his own daughter, how could a brother kill his own sister? Such cruelty persists in certain regions of the world we live in. Women who have rebelled against their society hoping for a better future, a future that we are lucky to have, have ended dead. Others were lucky enough to survive such atrocity but will forever hold the scars of their horrifying past.
References:
Iran Human Right, A father murdered his 16 years old daughter because of suspicion. (2009). Retrieved June 4, 2011, from http://iranhr.net/spip.php?article970
Gendercide: Case Study:"Honour" Killings and Blood Feuds. (n.d.). Genderside Watch. Retrieved June 1,2011, from http://www.gendercide.org/case_honour.html
CBC News: Aqsa Parvez's father, brother get life sentence. (n.d.). CBC News. Retrieved June 1, 2011, from http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/story/2010/06/16/parvez-sentence.html
]]>It's history is shadowed by devastating tragedies. Indeed, the massacres that took place in the École Polytechnique and at the Dawson College touched a whole continent.
These heartbreaking shootings, which targeted innocent students with a whole life ahead, ravaged a whole people. Even though they occurred seventeen years apart and are unrelated cases, some similarities are noticeable between the two shootings. In fact, a serious comparison of the two massacres shows that they are more alike than we would think.
]]> December 6th of 1989 a young man entered the École Polytechnique unnoticed, with a hunting knife and a gun. Marc Lépine, son of an Algerian immigrant and a woman from Québec, went to an engineering class and asked the fifty men to leave and asked the nine women that were left if they knew why he was there. When they answered no, he said: "I am fighting feminism." One of the students, Nathalie Provost, tried to reason with the angry shooter: "Look, we are just women studying engineering, not necessarily feminists ready to march on the streets to shout we are against men, just students intent on leading a normal life." Lépine then answered: "You're women; you're going to be engineers. You're all a bunch of feminists. I hate feminists" before opening fire from left to right, killing six of the nine women, wounding three. He then continued to the second floor and killed a woman through the window of the door she had just locked.
He made his way to the first floor cafeteria where he killed three women and stabbed a woman thrice with his hunting knife, killing her, in a third floor classroom, before exclaiming: "Oh shit!" and committing suicide. At the end of this tragic day, fourteen women who had a promising future ahead were uselessly slaughtered by a man who society failed to help. December 6th is now known as the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women.
September 13th 2006, 12h30, seventeen years later, a dark young man wearing a long, black overcoat and a Mohawk hairstyle arrived at the Dawson College by the Maisonneuve entrance. Kimveer
Gill carried four weapons and additional munitions.
12h41, he shot the first bullets at students on the steps of Dawson College before making his way into the building, straight to the cafeteria, where most of the students were eating, unaware of the tragedy that was about to take place.
12h42, Gill moved to a corner of the room and fired a shot to the floor before aiming at students in front of him. He told everyone to lie down on the floor and shot other students until he was met head-on by two police officers who were visiting the school at that time regarding an unrelated event. Additional police officers surrounded the campus, very quickly compared to the shooting of 1989. Confronted to the two law enforcement agents, Gill took two hostages.
12h48, he was shot to the arm by Officer Denis Côté and committed suicide by gunshot wound to the head. Luckily, the police arrived much faster than in 1989, and the shooting ended only twenty minutes after it had begun. But it was enough for Gill to kill Anastasia de Sousa, and injure nineteen other students.
The shooter's parents were from Punjabi, a region of Pakistan where the religious beliefs and traditions are very strong and very misogynous. Gill was an angry man, his anger towards society was so great that he felt there was no hope and killed himself, but made sure to leave a bloody mark onto Montreal's history and murdered a young girl who no longer has a future.
Twice in Montreal's history did young women lose their lives because men needed help but did not find it. Both shooters, sons of immigrants, had strong beliefs and felt women were inferior to men and while Lépine directed his anger towards women, Gill hated the whole society. Both felt powerless and believed that the only way for them to change the world was by killing. Gill and Lépine both left suicide letters that were profoundly shocking for everyone; Lépine clearly stated that feminists were the reason to his failure in life, while Gill deplored the fact that gothics were more often the target to bullying and prejudice. Lépine's motives were purely political while Gill's were more personal since they regarded his own experience of bullying at school
The shootings of the Dawson College and at the École Polytechnique profoundly touched the whole North American society, and many journalists and specialists began asking themselves: "Is something wrong with our society?" Indeed, an American journalist, Jan Wong columnist from the Globe and Mail stated that Marc Lépine and Kimveer Gill had been alienated from Quebec society and that was the reason to their desperate acts. Of course, this hypothesis was put aside but it is a question that is very important to ask: "Who should be blamed, the shooters or the society in which they could not be accepted?" In memory of the victims, it is now time we found an answer to these questions and prevented another massacre to occur in our schools, where the keys of our future, the students, are still learning.
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