TALES FROM H-TOWN: THE STORY OF ANTHONY JONES

I moved to Harvey around 1974-75. My family and I moved into a house on 155th & Vine. One of the first people I met was Anthony Jones. He lived on my block across the street; and we were in the same grade school class. Over the years Anthony and I were in the same circle of friends on Vine. We played sports together, ate together, talked about girls, and did all the things that friends do. We went on to attend high school together too. We were tight, or so I thought!

It was 1985. Anthony had been getting into trouble with his parents for a while. They were very strict Jehovah's Witnesses, and he rebelled. Eventually it got to the point where he stole money from them, and had even stolen the family car! He crashed it into a stoplight! Eventually he was kicked out of the house.

When Christmas 1985 came around I asked my mother if Anthony could spend it with us. She said yes, and so he did. He ate Christmas dinner with my family, and spent about 5 days at my house. Eventually my mom said that his time was up, and so he left. A little bit after he was gone I noticed that one of my Christmas presents was missing. It was a cologne set. I looked everywhere for it, and finally figured that it had been stolen. Lots of people hung out at my house, so I had no idea who did it.

One night I was up late getting a snack. I always made sure to look around the property in the evenings to see if everything was alright. When I looked out of the back window I saw a light on in my garage. I knew that I hadn't left it on so I went to tell my mother. She said for me to call the police, and I did. When the police got there we all went into the garage -- there was Anthony sleeping! He'd set up a little living space for himself! The police got him up. My mother didn't want to press charges, so he gathered his things and left.

A few months later I was on college spring break. I'd broken my ankle playing soccer so I wasn't going to be able to enjoy it much. One day some friends came by to get me out of the house. We drove around Chicago, and the wind felt good going through my hair, and the toes protruding from my cast. When I got back home I found out my house had been robbed! All types of things were missing and my mother was furious! The neighbor had the nerve to imply that I might have been involved. WTF! I lost my whole music collection (which included classic WBMX hot mixes), money, and more! I was pissed and wanted to find out who did it.

I told my friends on the block what happened. In short order, they all started to have things come up missing too. We went through every street contact we had to find answers. A block meeting was called one night, in the clubhouse (my garage), to discuss the evidence. Aside from myself there was Tim Collins, Tracy Dyson, Aubrey Fourte and his brothers Mark, James and Terrance, Tim Collins and his cousin Donald, and maybe a few more people.

Carol Thompson came up missing money after Anthony was around! He'd also been seen with my missing cologne in his bag! Tim Collins' family was missing Avon that had been stolen after a UPS delivery. Anthony was seen selling it! The Fourte Family had ten whole frozen chickens stolen, and that led back to Anthony as well. That bastard was robbing his friends, and he had to pay! We decided that night that he was to have his ass beat on sight!

The first to catch up with Anthony was Aubrey and one of his friends. Anthony got beat down on the next block; and was hit with a swing set to top it off! A while after that I was in a car with Tim Collins driving. I was still in a cast. We saw Anthony on 150th and Marshfield. Tim pulled the car over and said "Wait here." He walked towards Anthony on the corner. Before Anthony could react -- POP! Tim hit him in the jaw and he fell over a rock. Anthony got back up just in time to get hit a few more times. Anthony looked dazed as Tim walked away saying "I just kicked yo ass and I'm gonna kick it every time I see you Bitch!" We drove off. Not long after Anthony got caught again by somebody. This time he went to the hospital! He had a busted blood vessel in his eye, broken ribs and a punctured lung.

A couple years passed. I'd stopped thinking about Anthony when Tracy Dyson had news to share. Tracy had a girlfriend in Harvey, that had a 15 year old male cousin staying with her. Tracy had seen Anthony hanging out with the cousin, but he found out just how close they were when he found them in bed together sleeping! Anthony had to be 20 or 21 at the time.

One night me and the boys were out at a friend's apartment in Robbins. Who walks in but Anthony...and his face dropped! He immediately started gripping (kissing up)! He was sweating bullets as he promised to get us anything we wanted to drink or smoke. The boys looked at each other and walked into the front yard. By this point Anthony was a pathetic figure, and nobody wanted to bother with him. Just then the 15 year old walked up and grabbed Anthony by the arm. He pulled him to the side of the apartment building and started shouting at him for talking to us. The 15 year old boy was jealous! As Anthony tried to answer him, he got bitch slapped! Then the 15 year old took him away! I never saw him again.

A couple years later I got the news that Anthony was dead. I don't mourn people who steal from me so I had no remorse at hearing it. He had been killed in a car while trying to beat a train over some tracks. Apparently he'd recently gotten a girl pregnant too. And so ended the twisted story of Anthony Jones

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GANGS OF HARVEY: THE BARREL OF A GUN

In the old days people used to box when they got violent. Maybe someone would pick up a bottle or a brick, or even a knife, but situations generally didn't involve guns. That changed more and more in Harvey during the 1980's. As rival gangs strove for power they came into violent conflict with each other. This violence increasingly involved guns.

It was a dark freezing night in the early 80's. My friend Hiram Walker and I were walking up to Thornton Township High School for an off season baseball conditioning camp, to get the jump on tryouts. We were just passing the Harvey Library on Turlington when three boys stepped from the shadows. They yelled out for Hiram to come over. I didn't want to go, but Hiram said that he knew one of them. I stood in the Library's parking lot entrance, while Hiram walked over to the group.

A few minutes later all of them walked past me into the lot. Hiram looked angry and tears were running down his face. I was walking up to them when one of the boys, a Mexican, said that he had a gun! He had his hand in his jacket pocket, and there was a bulge! One of the other boys told Hiram that they were going to rob him. I knew the boy...we'd played little league together years earlier. "Stay out of it Steve or we'll rob you too,: he growled. "Barrr" I retorted. Barrr basically meant, in nice language, I don't think so! They ignored me and turned back to Hiram. They took his baseball glove, his money and his coat. The thugs went on their way, and I walked a shivering and shaken Hiram home in the sub zero wind chilled air. The police later tracked down the thieves. They were Gangster Disciples. The interesting thing is, the Prosecutor for that case is the current Governor of Illinois, Pat Quinn.

One night Hiram and I were just coming from a store. We were walking down snow covered 154th St., just coming up on Vine, when we saw three men standing across the street next to old Major Motors Auto Supply -- arguing. Suddenly, one of the men dashed into the street! He was having a hard time running in the slippery snow, when one of the other men pulled out a gun and started shooting! The running man made it across the street, to the corner of Vine, when he was hit! Surprisingly, he got back up and kept running -- and the shooter kept shooting! Hiram and I turned around without a word, made it to an alleyway, and ran like the wind! Don't know what happened to the "running man."

Harvey used to have carnivals at Harmon Park near Thornton High School. One night I was walking around, looking for girls with my friends, when gunshots rang out! After the confusion died down, I saw a boy lying on the ground. He had a red baseball cap and a bloody white t-shirt on. His name was Tim, and he was a Vice Lord. He'd been shot six times in the stomach! On a separate occasion at the carnival another gang member had his lips shot off. Just one more instance of life in this once idyllic community now being dictated from the barrel of a gun!

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TALES FROM H-TOWN: THE LONG WALK

Back when I was growing up in Harvey, I was into Boy Scouts. Boy Scout Troop 376 met at First United Methodist Church on Lexington; and, it's where I met Tracy Dyson, who ended up becoming my best friend. We were about 11 or 12 at the time, so this was around 1978 or 79. We'd decided to go for a merit badge, I believe it was for hiking. Everything was set for that Saturday: A day I'll never forget.

Tracy and I got picked up from Harvey by our Scoutmaster, Mr.. Gooch. We were dressed in our scout finest. Green uniforms, merit badges and ranks, and "Scout Pride." Mr.. Gooch took us to his house in Oak Forest. He dropped us off there, and gave us directions to find him a mile or two away at a local Forest Preserve. He drove off, and Tracy and I started our walk.

I was nervous. We were both from Harvey and had never been to this area before. I had no idea where to go! Tracy was better with navigation, so I relied on him and hoped that he would get it right. We walked through a residential area, made a few turns, and ended up on a street that was bordered on both sides by forest. Down the street we went.

We hadn't been on the wooded road long when a White lady with a child pulled up in her car next to us. She pointed at us and instructed her little one with "Those are niggers!" Then she drove off. I was shocked, and Tracy looked sick. We hadn't really thought about having any racial issues to get a merit badge...but here the issue was. We were two Black kids walking alone through what was starting to seem like hostile territory!

We walked a bit more and a White man drove up, and spat at us! We cursed him out as he drove off! By now we were cautious of every car that passed. Tracy and I were just coming to a big church property, when another White man drove by and threw a bottle at us! The bottle broke and some of the glass got in Tracy's shoe! We'd had enough! First, Tracy got the glass out of his shoe. Then we looked for bricks, sticks, and anything else we could carry. I tied a bandana around my head like an Apache warrior, and we were ready. Ironically we were preparing for battle on church grounds. The next driver that called us "Niggers" had so much shit flying his way, it looked like a biblical stoning! Every car that passed now contained a potential enemy! We were tense, angry, and defensive for the rest of our long walk.

When we made it to Mr.. Gooch, he was smiling. But he could see from our faces that something was wrong. We told him what happened and he was speechless. Mr.. Gooch was a very nice man, and he was White. He said that he was sorry for what we'd gone through. The whole time Tracy and I had been walking, Mr.. Gooch had been preparing a meal over an open fire with a Dutch Oven. He unveiled pot roast with veggies, and for dessert there was pineapple upside-down cake! It was a feast fit for Robin Hood and his merry men of the forest!

Even though the meal was awesome, Tracy and I were pretty quiet throughout. When we were driving back home we stayed quiet. I was just happy to be going back to Harvey. The meal had been delicious, but I still had a bad taste in my mouth from the long walk.

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GANGS OF HARVEY: GOLF ANYONE?

I was over at my friend Tim Collins'house one night, hanging out in the driveway. Tim, Cary Johnson, Andrew Richmond, me and some others were sitting around telling stories and engaging in our most common activity: Cadding (cracking jokes on eachother). We decided to walk a couple of blocks away to the all night gas station on 154th & Ashland for some snacks.

The group of us were joking when we made it there. All of a sudden a chubby light-skinned boy ran up to the station window, beating on it and screaming for help! His face was swollen and discolored. As the gas station attendant was coming outside, a group of boys and girls ran up screaming with golf clubs! Surrounded by a bunch of thugs with clubs, my friends and I thought we might have to fight!

The attendant was trying to keep the crowd away from the beaten boy, when one of them came towards me. I was ready to swing on him when I saw that he wasn't looking at me. He snuck around behind me and my friends, got in back of the attendant, and came at the chubby boy from the side...CRACK! He popped the chubby boy in the eye with a full punch and knocked him into the station's glass window!

The chubby boy was dazed, and in serious trouble, when another light-skinned boy came running up. "Get away from my brother" he yelled! He ran towards one of the girls, grabbed her club, and hit her in the teeth with it! She screamed and ran off! He then came over the top with a swing --like he was chopping wood-- and cracked one of the other boys in the top of the head! Blood squirted up about two feet in the air! The thug grabbed his head, yelled and started hopping away like a damned bunny rabbit! The rest of them ran away. The light-skinned brother with the club said he was a Vice Lord, and that the people chasing his little brother were Gangster Disciples.

The gas station attendant offered to call an ambulance and the police, but the two brothers refused and left. My friends and I went ahead with getting our snacks, and left too. Going back home we talked about our night, which wasn't too unusual. It was just another night in the 1980's gangland battlefield that Harvey had become...

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TALES FROM H-TOWN: THE FACE OF RACISM

Harvey is a mostly African-American community today, with a growing Latino population. Back in the 1970's it was pretty much Black and White. Most seemed to get along well, but there were still incidents.

Growing up I was a Boy scout in Troop 376 in the 1970's. We met at First United Methodist Church on 154th/155th & Lexington. Our Troop was racially mixed, and that was clearly pointed out by our Patrol Leader, Rick Furlong. He was a White boy who liked to throw around the word "Nigger" at the Black scouts, when he was mad. He felt like he could get away with it because his father was close to the Scoutmaster and usually at meetings.

One Summer we were at Summer Boy scout Camp...Camp Kiswaukee. A couple of weeks of living in nature. Cold showers in the morning, food cooked over a fire, keeping snakes out of your sleeping bags, using Out Houses (icks!), learning to shoot bows and rifles, and more. It was fun! Especially for African-American urban kids who weren't used to the outdoors. Other Black scouts from the neighborhood included Tracy Dyson, Parrish Walker, Hiram Walker and Excel Jones. We had a number of cool White scouts like Tim & Terry Houts (Houts or Fouts, can't remember which), Tim Martozzi, Scott Furlong and Jim Whippie in our troop too, but there still was Patrol Leader Rick!

One day I was walking with Excel near a pit that had ropes hanging above for scouts to swing over. It was an obstacle course type of thing. We were on our way to another good dinner (all meals there were the bomb diggity), when Rick walked up and said something to Excel. Excel said something back, and Rick called him a nigger. Excel had heard that word one too many times, so he karate flying kicked Rick into the pit! Rick kept calling him a nigger while he tried to crawl back up to ground level. Excel grabbed a rope, swung in the air, and kicked him back into the ditch! Rick was pissed, while Excel and I were cracking up! "You stupid niggers," Rick yelled as he climbed out of the pit again. He rushed at Excel, but Excel danced back and popped Rick in the face with a punch! The next time Rick rushed, same result --Pop! Rick was crying by now and Excel was fighting and laughing hysterically. Rick saw that he couldn't win so he ran off to tell someone; but Excel didn't get into any trouble. After that, Rick stopped using that word around us.

On my block there were a few White families. One of those was run by Mr. Cain, who let it be known that he hated Black people! If my friends or I walked past his house he would scream "Get away from my house you little coons!" We would laugh at his fat ass. If we spoke to his son Kenny, Mr. Cain would tell him not to speak back. Sometimes he would even call the police on us for walking past his house or playing football in the street. Eventually things started to happen. Maybe it was karma. Somebody shot his dog! A boy on the block named Bernie got caught tarring his car. And then, one night, someone threw eggs through his windows and put smoke bombs in his living room mailbox. He moved away soon after.

It was Senior year in high school, 1983-84. Parrish Walker, his brother Hiram, and I walked to other side of town to checkout our friend Diondrae White. We were walking past a bar on Halsted, when a White man ran.out and yelled "Get away from here! We don't want your kind around here!" I don't remember who it was, but one of us shouted back "Fuck you!" He ran back inside, and less than five minutes later we heard sirens. When we saw the police, Parrish and I ran. Diondrae and Hiram kept walking. The police pulled up next to them and put Diondrae and Hiram in the back seat. Parrish and I walked by and saw them sitting there. Eventually they were let go, but to be put in a police car for "Walking While Black," in a now majority Black city, was fucked up!

After high school I got invited to a party by a girl that I went to Thornton Township High School with, Diane Ingram. I'd had a huge crush on Diane for all four years of school, and I was thrilled that she'd invited me to a party at her house. That night I hooked up with my buddy, Jaime Heimlich, and we headed over to the party. I was the only African-American there, but I was having a bal! I remember lots of drinks in the backyard, seeing Diane smiling a lot, seeing Jaime laughing, and passing out on the back porch! I eventually sobered up, and Jaime and I started to head home. When we got to the front of Diane's house I saw two guys sitting on the steps. "Take it easy," I said, and was going about my way, when one of them yelled back "Go back to Africa!" I turned around and started walking towards him. "Get up so I can beat yo ass," I screamed. His friend apologized for him, said that he'd had too much to drink, and asked me to forget it. It was yet another face of racism. He tried to ruin my night, but I didn't let him!

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