1990:
For me though, today, life got real, very quickly. I remember it was warm, outside and inside, day and night. There was no A.C. in our house to cool down. We had a window unit like most people, I don’t believe “Central A.C.” had been residential yet. We survived on electric fans, partially opened windows and ignorance of the central air conditioning system. Most cars didn’t even have A.C. back then. I tell you, the weather was warm, but the streets of Saginaw were on fire.
I was born into a large, loving, unified (but struggling), Catholic family. Generationally like most families, my family didn’t discuss major life topics, we remained surface and figured things out as they came up. This throughout life put many people, including me in some pretty “unique” situations. My mothers’ ancestors came from Europe. I don’t know much else about them, at least I don’t recall their stories of struggle. They didn’t practice cultural languages or traditions and their religious knowledge was through the church.
My father’s ancestors came from Mexico. At one point they were migrant farmers and followed the harvest to Michigan, where they eventually got into foundry work with General Motors (G.M.) But again, children were not allowed to ask questions about life in or out of the house. My father’s family put down roots in Saginaw, so I seen them more frequently. This family didn’t practice much for culture, but there was some language, food, and spice of Mexico that I would find here and there. I embraced the Mexican/ Chicano culture for what it was at the time. Good or bad.
The older I became the more I associated with being Chicano (little Mexican, little European). I needed some identity other than “me”. I was “born into” Catholicism, I didn’t know any different. We didn’t know, practice, or live it much. Like many Catholics we engaged on Christmas and Easter, Catholic school, and a prayer before dinner. The more I found out about Catholicism, the less I wanted to do with it.
From about the 4th grade through present day, I experience people hating others for their culture based on color. I have never been put down or been assaulted for being white, however I can’t say the same for being Chicano. Either that or having a person of European descent tell me a racist joke (?) I don’t get it. In the world I grew up in, I was friends with kids of all colors within my blocks. However, for my mental health I needed to gravitate to one side or the other to survive. I began to take interest in and identify as Latino, as it was often Latinos that help me get through another day. I needed a tribe to know I was a part of.
Saginaw as a city is split right down the middle by the Saginaw River, dividing East from West. Prior to my days Saginaw was essentially racially divided, blacks Latinos and people of poverty lived on the east side of the river and those that were doing better, lived on the West side. In the 1980s and 90s (due to a major loss of labor and an influx of drugs and gangs) the blocks went from “The Neighborhood” to just “Hood”. Poverty crossed the river and swept through my blocks in a matter of years. The 1411 was tough and taught me some lessons that most will never see. It wasn’t always this way though.
- Little Back Story –
In 1977 G.M. was a booming business in Saginaw. The Vietnam War was over, money was back in the U.S. and the sale of automobiles was opened to a much larger market verses only people of wealth. Many families could not afford a vehicle to commute. Prior to this many minorities and financially struggling families used public transportation, but at this time, the Civil Rights Movement had recently made strides and as a human race we were in progress as a City regardless of color.
Side note –
My father left high school at 17 to go off to fight a war he didn’t think he would win. He told me he had a better chance of surviving NAM than he would have the streets of Saginaw. He was born into a large Mexican family that arrived in Saginaw many years earlier following the harvest as migrant farmers, eventually getting into the booming auto industry in Saginaw.
When he was a young child his family depended on the Catholic Church and the neighborhood for support. One day when he was young, a priest and a couple of nuns (in traditional black and white gowns) came to the house and sat down with my grandparents. My family was told by the church leadership that day to stop speaking Spanish and stop Mexican traditional practices. They were to assimilate to the American Culture to survive, or leave the church. My grandparents chose to leave our culture vs the church. I forgive yet blame the church for stealing my culture.
After 2 tours in NAM my father returned to Saginaw in 1969. According to him my grandfather required rent to be paid, so in anger my father left home. He did 2 tours in NAM with AMTRACKS. There a grenade injured his face, and he dodged a mortar attack in his hooch. Then returned to Saginaw with no support or love (like most).
In 1969 he was honorably discharged and returned to Saginaw in a great deal of physical and mental pain. During the early years when he was working at GM, it was pre-UNION development, and they were pouring molten IRON into casts all day making auto parts. No, A.C. poor ventilation, no strong union and overworked. But the pay was top notch for little skill otherwise. Over the years one of my father’s brothers became the Union President (UAW). He made some great changes. But he also became a celebrity in a strange way in a little broken city, and I think it divided him and my father.
- Here we go…
In 1977, GM had 7,000 employees in the Saginaw area, by 1982 (that’s 5 years) they had terminated all but 3,200. Of those that remained 600 were always on a rotating schedule from Saginaw to Detroit, Flint, or Lansing. This devastated our blocks.
It was strange, the blocks went from living the good hard-working life. To a change in life many were not eager to accept. Many could not afford their bills and could not find work elsewhere that equated to the pay and benefits of GM, the neighborhood could not sustain itself.
You will see it was a blessing in many ways that my father did not lose his job. We struggled, but my father was adamant not to put me into public schools and paid for me to attend Catholic school. In the 1980s and 1990s this was not the better choice, not for me anyhow. Not attending the public school with the kids in my blocks made me a target, and the goofy uniform I was seen in daily, made me a victim.
For many years it seemed I was bullied and struggled everywhere I went, school, home, church, the blocks, even 1411 was a struggle. But I learned to fight and became quite familiar with emotional and physical pain quite quickly. The 1st serious beating I took was in 3rd grade where I was beaten by a Catholic Nun behind closed doors with a wooden stick. My 2nd, 3rd, and 4th beatings were all on the streets and at Catholic school. I asked my father for help and to teach me to fight. But he was more likely to beat me himself to keep me from fighting than to teach me anything about it. My pops was an (maybe) “Ask one time, kind of pops”.
1989
We had a neighbor named Richard that lived 3 houses down, around the corner. Our backyards connected, divided by a 4-foot chain-link fence, the kind with the barbed wire are the top. The 1411 was weird, we had like 6 back yard neighbors all divided by the same fence. Anyhow, Richard was in his late 20’s maybe early 30’s (?). He and his wife seemed to be young and fit, they didn’t have children and often hosted friends for some backyard kick backs. They had this cabana kind of structure in the back yard with a cobblestone fireplace (it was really cool). He kind of looked like Rocky Balboa before Rocky got all swelled up with muscle. Richard worked for the city of Saginaw in the Parks department. After work he would go home into his small 1 small car unattached garage that had a slight lean and holes that allowed beams of light to laser their way to the floor.
In the garage he worked out punching a 60lb heavy bag. The bag was skinny like him, it was center hung from a rafter with a chain around it. The bag was red in color but wrapped all over in faded and beaten grey duct tape. He would alternate between hitting the bag and lifting sand filled dumbbells and barbells. I would see him in there every day as I walked by the houses. (We walked everywhere in the 90s) I overheard him one day telling another neighbor he exercised everyday because he worked in dangerous areas and had to stay fit.
One summer morning I was shooting baskets in the backyard. It was early and the temperature was already getting warm. From the backyard I could hear Richards fists hitting the bag in his garage and the chains rattling in response. I had I had an epiphany. I dropped the ball and hopped the 2 fences, snuck around the corner to the front of his garage. I really never spoke to him much, other than to ask to get the ball from his back yard when it would bounce over. I stepped into his garage casting a shadow over him on the flat bench press. Racking the weight, he smiled and welcomed me.
With a great deal of nervousness, I squared myself up to look bigger and said “would you teach me to box? I need to learn to fight”. He smirked and said, “it’s ok with me but you have to ask your dad, if he’s ok with it”. Right then, I know pops wouldn’t go for that madness. I agreed and darted around the garage (to go ask for permission). I hid behind another garage for a few minutes and returned to Richard’s garage and reported, “he said ok”. For a few days Richard gave me a couple of lessons, we got straight to the point. I wasn’t looking for a workout. He taught me to take a punch, and to return one. He taught me to get over the fear and just be ready for it. To shuffle my feet and always know what’s behind me. “Stick and move kiddo”.
1990
In 1990 I got into a scuffle outside of a Catholic school, during a girls’ volleyball game. It was a long awaited (not by me) battle of how far you can push “this guy”. This was the result of a year of bullying me through threats, phone calls, and a whole lot of smacks talking to harass me. These kids repeatedly threatened me, and I was always significantly outnumbered by them and their “crew”. In fact, the day of the fight there were 7 of them and me. The outcome of the story is that I was done getting kicked around and within weeks found myself in possession of a loaded 38 pistol.
It’s summer and I am beat. I am always worried, I feel alone, and now, carrying a gun. Its July19th, and today, Johnny Pena a young gangbanger is killed in a shooting. This has the attention of the city and marks an era of nonstop violence that continues today.
After years of fathers trying to recover from lost jobs and no other opportunities available, Crack Cocaine finds its way into the blocks! I would call “conspiracy, or genocide” if I knew those terms at the time. I watched the destruction like a cloud of darkness taking over our community. We were a generation and culture victimized and beat up to a point of anger, we turned on ourselves.
After enduring 8 years of the toxicity (my victimized years) “the sins of the father’ arose in me. I was ready for community warfare. We became products of our environment. Fathers were now in and out of the home (not mine, he stayed), in and out of prison (not mine), divorce was on the rise and fathers were leaving their families (emotionally and physically beaten).
1991
After a battle with Catholic schools, leadership, and my parents, I convinced them to allow me to attend public school within my blocks, which was a blessing and a curse. It was the summer break between Sophomore and Junior years. It’s a few weeks before school starts and parents and students are invited to an “orientation”. A day to go visit the schools and meet teachers etc. During orientation I met a kid I didn’t know from near my blocks. His name is Ignacio. I liked him, he looked tough, and he looked like he had some knowledge I needed. Meeting Ignacio that day changed the trajectory of the path I was on and impacted my relationship with the world around me.
Discovering Ignacios family was about a 20-minute walk from my house improved the relationship. We didn’t have cars, bikes, or anyone to provide a ride, so location was often a factor for friendships. Ignacios father was in prison, and his mother was now a single mom of 5. It aches me to this day the pain and suffering we put our parents through. Both our families were “Christian”, I think his mother was probably the only devout Christian at that time.
We quickly bonded, looking back, I can see God putting me in his path to save him, but I failed and allowed Ignacio to save me. We had many of the same struggles, the difference was, Ignacio had always attended public school. He also had grown up with kids from the blocks and a local street gang I was eager to run with. He knew these other kids before they started banging so he had bonds there. As we strolled the streets of Saginaw for countless hours we shared stories and bonded as well. When I learned of his gang affiliation I was intrigued.
Over the last few years, the local news had been reporting the violence on the streets. You could see the rise of violent crime as it engulfed the 1411. Back then we didn’t have unlimited television to watch nor a solid media source. We had local news, (Detroit news sometimes) and three channels: 5, 12 and 25 with rabbit ears to adjust to the proper wave frequency. Cable television was still new and expensive, and with cable there were only like 4 more channels. We would have cable when there were deals.
The news I seen showed what was happening in Detroit and L.A. at times, the rest we learned from the media we created (music, books, etc.). If you were paying attention you could see the disaster coming toward our blocks. I was looking for salvation from the streets and I got it.
When I learned that Ignacio was tight with a local Latino gang I quickly and silently pushed all my chips in. This was the last hand I planned to play. I didn’t care what the cards were. For me, the only books and media I had been drawn to were “The Outsiders”, NWA, Ghetto Boys, Tupac, Kid Frost, Too Short, Eazy E, Arrested Development, and other like media. It didn’t matter if it was white, black, or brown, it was street salvation information. No one was teaching us how to adapt to the changes, what to do or how to survive. Our fathers were busy “being lost” and our mothers were busy trying to keep us happy and ensure we had some value of love.
Over time Ignacio and I grew close, I learned a lot from him. I am not sure to this day if I impacted his life in any way positive or not. Like most teens we spent most of our time looking for something to do. We walked to most places as we didn’t have much money for gas even when we did have a car to drive.
If we were not on the streets walking, talking smoking and drinking, we were at someone’s house doing the same. Shortly after I met Ignacio he and his girlfriend Stacy introduced me to their friend Maria. It was a workable situation, so I ended up dating Maria, and we spent a lot of time at her house. Her parents didn’t care what we did, so we did it all there.
Meeting Ignacio spun my life upside down. I went from a kid that had been (physically and emotionally depleted of the magic of life) pushed too far with absentee fatherism; to a kid that was now protected and, “crewed up overnight”. Not only did I have protection, but I also had immediate confidence in myself, I had a group of 6 immediate friends and a girlfriend that was from the blocks. I never dated a girl from the blocks before, or any girl really. So at 16, I was “all in”. Meeting Ignacio was probably the first time in a long time that I felt I could relax, be me; I could laugh, I could talk about “the home life” with people FROM THE BLOCKS. I was even ok with moments of conflict on the streets because I knew I wasn’t alone now! It wasn’t long before I began to embrace moments of conflict, whether mine, Ignacios or someone else’, conflict was now common. I turned from prey to predator in about 2 months.
1991
The fire on the streets since the death of Johnny Pena has not resolved. If you are paying attention you can see the pain everywhere, in our: parents, police, priests, and teachers. Businesses and houses were becoming dilapidated, and pets are going from Poodles to Pitbulls. The windows on cars went from clear to tinted black, music shifted from R.A.P. (the true Rhythm and Poetry) to murder, revenge and just not giving a rat’s tail about anything, THE COMMUNITY GAVE UP, no leadership, no focus, no goals, no drive, JUST SURVIVE. My father did give me an abundance of street knowledge.
People say we were not “from the Hood”. That’s because we were like frogs in a pot of water on a hot stove. They didn’t notice the change, or no one cared, we were short on information back then. No social media, no internet, this delayed information. We depended on the Saginaw or Bay City News Paper, and that was only one side of the story most times. We never had the ability to understand the changes unless you knew someone outside of the situation looking in and telling you. And I didn’t have anyone in my life like that. The people outside of my situation, those were the kids from “the good parts of Saginaw”, they are the ones that were beating on me (Catholic school). I wasn’t going to get any good information from them.
1991
I’m 17, I have access to a firearm, I’m affiliated with gangs, drugs and alcohol are abundant, we have no goals and thrive on the thuggish lifestyle. Getting alcohol, drugs, guns in Saginaw is not hard if you know where to look. Once you become familiar, you don’t even have to look, and the opportunities are presented to you. Here’s the danger; once you “know” a drug or weapons dealer, you can’t “Unknow” them, and they know you know.
I knew stores that had it all, all you had to do was be familiar and have money or be willing to do “something”. I knew this life existed just by looking at the streets, but this was all new for me to be “on the inside looking in. “
- Side note –
We are now also at war in the middle east with Desert Shield, Desert Storm and then the Kuwait Liberation.
We were at war as a country, a city, a community and in our own homes. It was chaos and no one had seen it coming but the youth on the streets. In my family, questions were not allowed. Not about anything other than what’s for dinner. I learned love and kindness from my mothers’ actions. And order, integrity, and anger from my father’s actions. Our generation was rarely “taught life” by anyone, just our own observations and perspectives.
For most of my years in the Saginaw Catholic school system, I learned the roll of the victim. I never had an opportunity there to play the role of the predator. More destructive than being a victim is what to do with that physical pain. I wasn’t allowed to ask questions or talk about my life in the home, and my environments all began to eat me alive. This is why at 14 years of age I was ready for war. The 1st person I asked about a gun in the blocks, just so happened to have one for me, for free. I had given up.
Hanging around with Ignacio I connected with peers from my blocks quickly. But I was in a weird place, I now had friends in other gangs, and a few friends from the Catholic schools. Figuring out who to hang around with became a challenge.
1992 – 1993
I invested my friendship with Ignacio as he was ground zero on the streets for me. Ignacio was now a proven and made member of a Latin gang. Our senior year Ignacio dropped out of H.S., which impacted on our friendship as he wasn’t there for me in the school where he had many enemies from other gangs. I only had a couple of them that questioned me because of my “affiliation”. As our friendship began to dissolve I established friendships with others, and the darkness he embraced grew like a cancer.
In my world, crime was everywhere. A shooting, drive-by, robbery, murder, attempted murder, B and E, armed robbery, carjacking, assault with deadly weapon, joy riding, aggravated battery, possession of stolen property, drug trafficking, possession with intent to (distribute), Aggravated batt with intent etc.. these were all common words; common and glorified. In my world, you were either no one and ignored, a victim, or wolf.
Here is the case I caught:
Ignacio and I are still close, but not as much. I am enlisted in the Marine Corps preparing to go to bootcamp. Like my father escaped Saginaw by war of Vietnam, I plan to do the same by war in Kuwait. My father had no plans of surviving Vietnam. I was prepared to survive and to kill. I was in a state of anger and revenge.
1992
I was on the phone (attached to the wall) talking with someone. All of a sudden a car squealed into the driveway. It was a friend Bobby. He ran quickly into the house and said “man you gotta get out of here, I just drove past Ignacio, Marias, and Joes houses. The SWAT, GTF, City P.D. and Sheriffs Dept descending on the blocks. They’re getting raided!”
We bolted out of the house, ran to his car, and spent hours on an unexpected joyride through Saginaw. I wasn’t certain what it was about, it could have been a list of things. I hoped that it wasn’t something I had been present for, but most likely it was, and our worlds were crashing down.
Close to 8 p.m. I stopped at my friend Curtis’ house. As we pulled into the driveway he met us outside. As Curtis approached the car he pointed to me and said, “homie you have to call home, your mas called here looking for you and it doesn’t sound good.” (The pain she must have been enduring).
I called home from the phone in the kitchen near the back door of Curtis place. My mom answered. I played dumb. “Hey mom, what’s up”. Her response “get the BEEP home” click. My heart sank. A weight heavier than I had ever felt came down on me. My soul was crushed, I didn’t know I had a soul until I crushed it. I had never heard my mother swear before, nor hang up on me. Mom was my teacher for love and compassion, but not tonight.
I looked at Bobby, my jaw dropped, eyes wide open, and said the same thing “BEEEEEP”. We walked back out of the house, got into Bobby’s car, and lit a smoke. I wasn’t sure what to do. Go home or run? I was afraid of my father. I was sure he would have me in the corner like Mike Tyson eating ears, he’d destroy me, and I don’t think I would have defended myself at all.
Home was about 10 blocks away. Small city blocks, 4-6 homes per side? That’s about 4 mins away at 30 miles per hour with 3 stop signs. Or 25 minutes on foot, walking slowly. I didn’t know if I want to walk home or just get a ride to get it over with. I was not afraid of jail, or the police, but I was afraid of my father.
After a 4-minute car ride and the pack of cigarettes I smoked on the way, we got there faster than I ever recall. It felt like 45 seconds. Bobby was known to speed; he had already lost his license.
We lived one house down, at the corner of a Y intersection section of a road. Essentially there were 3 corners that came together (strange), and a block up the road another one of the streets split, so there were 6 corners all close together. Our house was a two story 3 bed, 1.5 bath, unfinished basement. We had a chain link fence in the backyard as well as a garage.
We had a basketball hoop that my father and I put up in 1986, it’s still there today. The house was black on top and white on the bottom. We had a covered front porch with large concrete steps. We didn’t use the front door and people knew this. If someone were at the front door, someone was in trouble; resident, guest, business, or stranger, dad would be upset. The door on the side of the house with the driveway was the Familiar door we used.
As Bobby pulled in front of our house to our house I could feel my heart racing. To my advantage it was dark out. They wouldn’t know I was home yet. The dim dining room light was on, curtains open and I could see my parents at the dining table through the three front windows. It was now or never.
As Bobby pulled away the weight grew heavier with every breath I took. I could see 2 unmarked police cars down the road, one to the north and one to the south. I knew my “number was up.” I opened the side door to the house, walked inside, the entry was dark, then up 5 steps to the kitchen. There was my mother sitting at the dinner table in the soft yellow light. Then there was my father, standing near the table, hands down by his side, looking defeated.
He quietly said, “Well, come in and tell us what’s happening”. Now I feel defeated, I’d rather have taken a beating. I broke my father’s heart. I didn’t know he had a heart. If I did, I wouldn’t have thought it could be broken. My father had no emotion now to show. Typically, a smile here and there, and a laugh with his friends here and there, but not now. I didn’t know what the broken one was. Now, I am “The frog in the pot of water, on the hot stove” when it comes to emotions. I never learned emotions.
My parents knew I wasn’t doing good in school, and I was up to “something” on the streets and had been warned about who I was associated with by other parents, but there was no stopping me. I was already who I was to be (for the time). My mother was praying to keep me going until I left for the Marines.
I came in, sat down and I told them essentially what I could. I didn’t provide names to keep them safe. I told them I was getting knocked around and had been for years, I asked for help. I was denied help, and so I found my own. Just like the movies.
- And now for what happened –
It’s Friday at about 10 a.m. I am sitting at home. Another friend of mine is Joe, he and Ignacio come to the house unannounced in Joes car. I could see them pull into the driveway from the living room. I went out to the driveway and Ignacio and Joe get out of the car. Ignacio and Joe ask me to “help them out”. Ignacio is a made member now with some serious anger inside. Joe, he’s a no one on the streets. (Truly lucky for him). But its Ignacio that wants the help, this puts me in a “loose, loose” situation.
In the back seat of Joes car was a large brown and red blanket, it was covering a pile of something. They had laid the blanket over a pile of guns. A solid arsenal of variety of makes and models. It was enough to equip a medium sized militia, or gang. Joe says, “hey man, can you help us out, you see I have to go to work, and Ignacio has this product to move but no car, can you help him out”? This is a tight situation here; this is real life. Am I good to say no? How does a no, end for me?
My response:
- In my head:
- “Are you kidding me Joe! You BEEEP coward!”
- From my lips:
- “Awe man, for sure, I got you”. They wanted to stash them in the 1411, but that wasn’t an option. I knew my pops would be home in a little bit and if there was even a single trace of this madness, he would have killed me, Joe, Ignacio, and probably their families. * This is explained later.
We loaded the guns from Joes car and into mine. Ignacio and I leave and drive around Saginaw (Sagnasty) for a while, it felt aimless. Eventually headed deeper into the hood and onto the South Side. Ignacio asked me to stop at a pay phone so he could make a couple of calls. I pulled into the parking lot of a “sell it all” kind of liquor store. It has bullet proof glass, bars on the windows and inside the clerk stands on a platform elevated several feet, allowing him to look down at you and monitor the store.
After Ignacio makes a few calls we head to our mutual friend Vince’s place. He’s one of the heads of the O.G.’s that bonded the gang. Vince A.K.A (V) is a bit older than me but a lot bigger, (my growth spurt was well delayed).
V’s place was about 10 minutes away from 1411. My blocks were nothing compared to the South Side. No worries though, I’m just saying the increase in risk is definitely elevated there. It’s still daytime, we roll up in my faded cherry red, (1979 Chevette Hooptie) to a mid-day, old-school hood-cookout of O.G.’s. (Think Cube in Boys in the Hood, that “getting out of prison scene”).
We are welcomed and greeted, make our way around, grab a Miller Highlife out of the fridge and play like everything’s good. I’m nervous and sweating inside, I have never moved weapons before, let alone this many without even knowing the backstory of where they came from. (I eventually found out, I just didn’t care, it wasn’t uncommon for me to be places I shouldn’t have and seen things I shouldn’t have. I just wasn’t usually involved for no purpose.)
Ignacio meets and greets and does his thing. We stay for a min then leave. We go to Marias house, in my blocks. Maria and others are sitting in the middle of the living room flipping through a stack of merch that didn’t look familiar. I ask where they got them, and someone starts to tell me “they are from a B and… ”. I stop him before he says anything further “yo, yo, yo man…. Don’t tell me this Beeeep, I’m getting out of Saginaw soon through the Marines, I can’t catch a case!” I stepped over them and through the room. I don’t hear anything else about it, but seeing my life getting darker and darker, I gotta get back home.
- I later learn through my attorney that a group of my peers “may or may not have” taken that stack of merchandise to a pawn shop for cash. Seems that they were eager to get rid of items for almost nothing. Too good to be true for a shopkeeper in the hood. The keeper checks the merch and found a phone number.
- Shop keeper agrees to a deal. Then he took a picture of the crew in the shop, in their car, the plates and driving away. In the 90s cameras back then had film that would still need to be developed. Shop keeper then calls the number and as it happens the police are there doing a report for a B and E.
However, this was not a regular B and E. This was the home of a gun collector. This now involved the G.T.F, A.T.F., SWAT, and the Sheriff. As of early that morning there was “presumably” an abundance of stolen firearms on the streets. (Sorry mom and dad). Crazy. We were kids.
- Coming back around –
Sitting there at the kitchen table I told my parents “what I could”. Then, “they told me” what they recently found out about me that day. “The show” of law enforcement made its way to 1411 (while we were driving around). There was a knock at the front door, (that’s the business only door). Dad pealed back the long light blue sun blocker curtain, seen the display of circus lights around the house and S.W.A.T. at the door. My father answered the door for S.W.A.T. with his hands up. As they do, the authorities entered the house, searched, and detained my mother and father with a warrant. A detective read my father his rights and began questioning (the same with my mother). Entry was quick, unexpected, and frightening (I am told). A.T.F. delivered a search warrant while G.T.F. and S.W.A.T. searched the property for me and the weapons. After hours of questioning, they let my parents be and posted 2 unmarked units in the blocks waiting for me to come home.
My father spent the rest of the day on the phone with an attorney that was provided as a benefit by G.M. for employees. As a benefit employees received a certain number of hours of legal representation per year at a discounted rate. Otherwise, no G.M., no attorney for me, no Marines, and 30 – Life). As my father was on the phone with the attorney, the attorney was on another line with the Sheriff’s Department in dispatch, who was communicating with the unmarked units that were watching me.
The undercover officers were waiting to arrest me; however, my father plead for time. Time to wait and see if he could help me get the guns off the street (madness). I was facing charges of receiving, trafficking, and modification of stolen firearms, with an additional charge of felony with a firearm. The detective told my father I was looking at 30 yrs. – life. I was ready to run out the back door. My father could see the look in my eye (as I measured the distance from the back door through the backyard and down the block mentally). He said, “Don’t do it, they will kill you.” I am only 17. It’s Friday. This is not what I planned my day to be.
I am exhausted from living in a state of terror from all directions for many years. I don’t care if they shoot me. I think to myself, I might as well try. The phone rings, my dad walks over to the wall, lifts the phone to his ear. It’s the attorney. While on the phone my father says to me, “do you think you can get them back? Right now?” I think to myself, well if I can’t, I’m dead either way, why not see what happens. My father relays the message to the attorney etc. The detectives give me one hour to get the guns off the street. I’m pretty sure at this point, everyone hates me.
I can see that I have broken my father’s heart even further now. My mother is tired, she has no idea what to do. She’s sitting at the table in tears. Still on the phone, my dad looks at me and says, “first the detectives want a name.” I look at my dad and tell him that I couldn’t and wouldn’t give him one (even though someone gave them mine). One thing I learned on the street over the years is that “Snitches, get buried in the river”. I’d rather take my chances with the police on the run. Either way I’m dead.
After more discussion the detectives agree, no name but the clock is ticking. I have to get back to Vs house, get a price, get some money, return to Vs, get the product, and drive home in an hour? Logistically impossible. It’s now about 8 pm. It’s dark. My blocks suck but Vinces, man, Vinces was the center of the suck.
I step out of the house, walk down the driveway toward my car. As I am walking I can’t stop staring at the unmarked cars. I get in my car, back out of the driveway and head down the block. As I get a few houses away they began to follow me. I make 4 quick left turns and headed back home. I pulled in the driveway, walked inside, looked at my parents and said “The police are following me. That can’t happen. If they follow me, you and mom are dead tonight. I’m in some serious trouble here. I’m sorry.” My dad called the atty, etc. and the detectives agreed to drop the tail. I drove away a second time, getting about 6 blocks out I can tell I have unmarked units following me. Again, I have to go back home. Same process. It’s about 10 pm now and the police have exhausted my hour. I think: “Do I run? I hate my life.”
The 3rd time I drive away I’m thinking of just driving my car over the bridge as I cross the river, I know I can’t outrun a bicycle in my car. Over the bridge and through some hoods I make it to V’s place. The party is twice the size now. From the back yard into the front yard and through the garage. The garage is lit up brightly. Fellas are playing cards, wearing colors, drinking 40 oz and blunts are passing. The music is loud, and the grill is still on, people are joking, playing cards, dice and chatting. And I wish I could trade lives with anyone in the world right now. Right now, I want to skip this part of life like Monopoli and “don’t pass go, just got to jail. “
The street is narrow and full of cars on both sides. I find a spot up front, near the driveway. I get out of my car walk around and talk to some fellas, looking for V. (Listen: Even V’s mom was OG). This was a neighborhood the police don’t come to. Theres not much point. They follow up late for reports, evidence and clean up. The police would say “ABC Ambulance Before Cruiser”. As in let the medics clean up the bodies and police go in for the report.
I walked up the driveway, through the garage, through the backyard, back around to the side and door into the house before I find V. V welcomes me back. I don’t know him well; he was older and had started with the crew years before they identified as a gang. He had trauma I hadn’t seen. A year before he was shot by a rival gang. In school one day I seen he was hurt, he dropped his books, and I stopped and picked them up. He said “thanks hommie” in his very soft-spoken friendly voice. That’s all the interaction I ever had with him.
Now here I am in front of him in his Kitchen. I ask him if I can speak to him on the side. I am nervous, sweating, trying to be confident, I can’t stop thinking “He’s one of the originals. I’m barely affiliated, and about to tell him a quick “story of the day”: The “highlights” are “everyone is in jail, and I need the guns back for “5.0” that are waiting for me back at home.”
With his arm around me, he looks at me and says, “for sure hommie, come with me”. We step further into the kitchen; his mom is there at the sink cleaning plates. She looks at me and smiles “hi mihijo, how are you?” and turns back over the sink. I give V the highlights of the day and 100% certain that either he or his mom are going to put one in the back of my head. (I’m tired, drained, beaten, confused, I just want to get it over with). Vince puts his arm around me again and says, “what’s that hommie?” I said, “Beeped up right”.
V says, “tell you what, come with me”. Walks me outside to the driveway, says “Hey, hey, hey turn the music down. Listen up, my hommie here needs to do business with his earlier customers.” A few of the fellas get up from tables and the garage and we all go back inside the house to the small round table in the kitchen. I’m just thinking “how am I not dead yet?”
V says, “he needs that product back”. They laugh. V says, “for real, take care my hommie”. I’m thinking “take care” of equals click to the back of the head”. He says, “for real, hook him up”.
I don’t know for sure what Ignacio was paid for them, but I know it’s not what my father had to pay to get them back. The Hommies each wanted about 300% more per weapon, which at this point they had already been altered with serial numbers removed, stocks and barrels limited, and more. My negotiation skills at this point essentially consisted merely of agreement. I didn’t take any money with me. I figured wasn’t going to get murdered and robbed.
I got a total dollar amount that I now have to go tell my father. I returned home and told him I needed $3,000.00 cash and two thousand rounds of ammo as trade. My dad called the Atty and relayed the message. It’s after midnight now. My father went upstairs and came back down with $2,900.00. Everything he had saved for an emergency (my guess is this was not the storm he was expecting). And it was all a gamble if he would ever see me or the money again.
I drove back to V’s (about 12:30 am), no tail this time. This is crazy. I pull up in front of the house, the party was still on but quieter. I did not want to walk into this house again for the 3rd time today, now with 3k in my pocket no gun on me, and there to buy hot guns back to turn over to the police! This doesn’t make any sense.
I get out of my car. Take my time and act like I just don’t care, which I really didn’t at that point. I walk into the house and find V. Now I have to tell him I am $100.00 short, I don’t have 2k in ammo, and, the police said, “we’re all stupid if we think they would agree to putting ammo on the street.” (I don’t know about everyone else, but I am almost certain at this point that I am stupid.)
V laughs, “no worries hommie, I got you. Yo! Hommies, let me get that iron”. Guns come out onto the table. 80% are there. V looks and me and says, “sorry hommie, some are gone, already resold, I can’t help you there.” He looks at the fellas and says, “As far as the ammo goes, it’s not goanna happen tonight. The price is solid”. Looking back at me, “Good luck hommie”.
I walk away, again waiting for death. I preferred a bullet to the back of the head vs. what I know is possible. People disappear in Saginaw all the time. As I am walking away I wish I had a gun to do it myself. Now the anxiety of staying alive was heavy on my heart and mind. What kind of hell storm would I see next? This doesn’t just happen and go away. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction… right? Word of this will spread on the street quickly.
It’s not rational to sell stolen guns to a gang, have GTF, ATF, and SWAT looking for you, then just walk up and get them back; this violates 100% of street law. You have no idea. I walked to my car, got in, light a smoke, adjusted the radio, then I drive off. I don’t get it. Now I am laughing so hard I’m about crying. As I am driving away I get about 5 blocks from Vs and behind me is a cop car.
My windows are illegally tinted, I have a dozen stolen weapons that have clearly been altered and recently shot as you can still smell the Cordite. Now, I’m losing it! I just can’t catch a break, I’m about to get shot by this cop is my next guess. I am imagining him running my car’s plate, seeing I have a warrant for arrest, he comes to the car, sees the guns smells the cordite and shoots me dead. I can’t stop laughing and crying. It’s uncontrolled. I think it’s the nervous giggles.
Next, the officer turns on his overhead flashers. That red and blue swirling light, it lights up the neighborhood. I can see the reflection of the lights off of the house windows and bouncing off of a stop sign that is across the street. I am at a slow roll. It’s all so unreal. Then I hear a loud audible blip, blip, chip… “driver, stop the vehicle”. I continue up another 15 feet to be under the flickering yellow streetlight, that is more of a distraction than an aid to the situation and lower the officer’s suspicion.
I stopped the vehicle, shifted into park, turned the vehicle off, rolled down my window and waited. It felt like I sat there waiting for hours with the spotlight in my eyes, blinding me. I plead with God to free me, I promised I would do better and cried out for God to “fast forward my life” and just get me out of Saginaw. As I waited, the officer turned the patrol car flashers off and pulls away at a high rate of speed, flashers go back on, siren on, and he’s gone! He didn’t use a siren for me, other than the audible chirps.
I get home, it’s now near 1 am. My mother and father are sitting around the kitchen table, the lights are off. The tone is exhaustion. I made several trips into the house with the weapons, stacking them in the living room. Each trip I made from the car to the house the weight on my heart got a bit lighter, knowing I am at least trying to right a wrong. Each trip I made I also thought about the family whose “peace of home” was destroyed. To this day I am sorry that occurred.
As I got the stash in the house my father called the detective and arranged for the guns to be handed over to the police. About 3 minutes later there was a knock at the front door. Me and my dad answered the door together. The front porch light made shadows of 4 police officers in tactical gear. They spoke to my father and my father handed over the guns. It was a very quick transaction, they simply took them, turned around and loaded the vehicles and drove off. There was no paperwork, pictures or anything from our transaction which made me kind of nervous. My dad closed the door and turned off the light. I looked at him and I said, “now your guilty of possession and trafficking stolen weapons to the police!” He didn’t laugh.
- Next –
Life for me changed dramatically that day. Not for the better. Everyone I was familiar with was locked up, dead or on their way to death. I was still in High School! I still had to graduate, then survive the summer before I would leave for Marine Corps bootcamp. I enlisted with a couple other friends of mine, and I tried to get Ignacio to enlist. I didn’t think Ignacio would survive the streets, as a dropout in Saginaw, there were not too many opportunities.
I don’t recall details of the weekend or getting up or driving to school, however Monday when I returned to school I remember like it just happened. The sun was out, it was a beautiful morning. I began walking from my car to the school. I’m walking in a bit late in order to avoid everyone. I’m stressed, I have no idea what is going to happen.
My fear now was killed in school. I felt like I was a child walking into battle against an unknown giant. As I approach the large brown metal double hung doors at the back of the school, there is one person standing at the door. Someone I know from class, Castillano he’s a gang member from a rival gang. He held the door for me, like he had been waiting there all morning just for me. It’s just me and Castillano there in the sunlight, he smiles, and says “what’s up hommie, look at you! Holy Beep! no beep! I’d never guessed you for a gun man.” I think, “BEEP Me!”
I replied, “nah man, not my thing, just a case I caught”. Castillano replied, “Then why aren’t you locked up? I heard you’re looking at a 30-year bit. How are you on the street?.” So, I told him. The truth. Castillano nodded and said, “bro! your BEEEPING crazy! You got balls.” (I didn’t have balls. I had no choice.) Over the next few months 1411 was shot up a bit in a drive-by shooting. At this point it could have been any one of so many people, I was in the middle of a lot.
About a month later I was subpoenaed to court for a Prelim hearing. We all gathered in the small court room. Those that were incarcerated come in through the court/ jail corridor wearing orange. When they came in it was such a strange feeling. We all avoided eye contact. I felt guilty, but I also felt tremendous sorrow for all of our futures. I remember feeling a great deal of protection from my father at this time. The protection I wanted to feel from him 10 years ago, it was late, but not too late.
The bailiff came in and ordered the court’s attention to the judge. “All rise”. The judge addressed the court, we sat down and proceeded. My now “ex-girlfriend” was called to the stand first.
She swore in and the judge asked to state her name and tell him what has occurred. Maria quickly sat down and began to tell the judge a bit more than required at the time. Maria responded with her name and some quick bullet points about the crimes. Thankfully the judge intervened, stopping Maria from speaking. He asked her where her attorney was. She informed the judge she didn’t have one. He informed her what “self- incrimination” is. The judged then postponed until everyone involved have legal counsel.
Me, my father, attorney, and Marine Corps recruiter were helping me through my situation as I was out on some kind of agreed terms. My recruiter was now working with Lansing Michigan’s Marine Head Quarters, and they planned with the judge that I be in bootcamp very quickly.
- Side story –
While waiting for the next opening for bootcamp, Ignacios latest girlfriend Alisha called and wanted to meet with me. I drove to her house, and she handed me a letter to her from Ignacio in jail. The letter stated he put a hit out on me to keep me from talking. I figured as much would happen; the streets have no love.
I managed to survive that summer of 1993 and went to bootcamp. I’d never really been outside of Saginaw for any purpose prior to this so it was a new challenge and experience.
Interestingly enough when I signed up for the Marines, I went in through an unlikely avenue. I enlisted as an open contract. Open contract meant that you were such a mess the Marines even during war (Kuwait) weren’t sure if they wanted to take you or not. It was for high-risk failures, those most unlikely to succeed, high school dropouts or those with criminal histories. But I was clean, I graduated, and never had a criminal record.
My parents and the recruiter advised me against it. But I insisted. I felt empty inside and just needed to leave Sagnasty. I signed a 6-year open contract. Apparently I did quite well on the ASVAB (Military placement test). I was provided with a career of Logistical and Embarkation Specialist. I was trained to load guns, grunts and gear onto ships and airplanes for wartime deployment. There were people seeking to get into this career, and I looked at it like nothing. I didn’t ask for it. I thought I would have been infantry and would go off to war, kill a few then be killed. I knew nothing about other careers in the Marines. I figured we were all some form of infantry. My father was an infantry, so there go I.
1994:
I am done with Boot Camp, Marine Combat Training and school training. I am on my way to my 1st duty station. Okinawa Japan, Marine Corps Command Head Quarters on Camp Foster. Like my life, this was quite an unusual situation (miracle). My 1st work location was in an office, in the building where the president of the United States choppers into. I was a hood rat and had no business there.
In my office my co-worker was a full bird Cornel! See doesn’t make sense. I should have been in the field with the infantry, men my age with my mind-set of rage. The Cornel and I shared a small office with a Staff Sargent and a Major.
The building mainly consisted of a couple of Generals, a few full birds with Captains and Majors as the pawns of the building. However, there I was, a Private First Class. I was fresh I still had sand in my ears, a boot as they would say. I had no business in that building let alone to be working there daily.
After about 2 weeks on the job, I got a letter in the mail from my mother. It said to call home. As it were, the police come with a warrant for my arrest a couple of weeks back. I present the information to my co-worker, Cornel Oaks. I said “Sir, I need to talk to you. I have a warrant for my arrest back home for an old case.” He heard me out, took my information, walked down the hall, spoke with a Major General and came back a couple of hours later. He said, “there you go Estrada, no charges your all set”. The Lieutenant General called the Saginaw courts and spoke with a judge, all charges were dropped based on an honorable discharge.
I survived both Saginaw and the Marines. Throughout my life I have never stopped trying to improve myself and not slip back into that mindset of anger. After the Marines I went on to become a police officer because I wanted to help people on the street, but I quickly found it was not the path for me.
I moved around a bit, struggled with pain from life compounded by the Marines and struggled with addictions and dependency of alcohol, narcotics, and anger. If I were not in an alcohol, drug, or violent mindset I was living in deep dark depression.
I met and made amazing friends all over the world, that impacted me and changed me into who I was to become (?) is that a thing? The Spirit and Jesus eventually saved me from myself eventually in 2018.
