A Breed Apart: A Journey to Redemptionby Victor Woods
Victor Woods enjoyed a distinctly privileged childhood. Born to an affluent Chicago family the son of a Fortune 500 executive and a dedicated schoolteacher Woods attended all the best schools, and was never in want for anything. He lived safe in the bosom of a loving home. But like so many African Americans who came of age in post-segregation America,
Victor Woods enjoyed a distinctly privileged childhood. Born to an affluent Chicago family the son of a Fortune 500 executive and a dedicated schoolteacher Woods attended all the best schools, and was never in want for anything. He lived safe in the bosom of a loving home. But like so many African Americans who came of age in post-segregation America, newly entitled to the benefits of racial integration, Woods felt alienated and enraged.
Frustrated by the lack of positive enforcement in his predominantly white community and school system, and his well-intentioned tough-love parents, Woods, at age fifteen, ran away from home and didn't look back. Fascinated by street life and fast money, he turned to petty theft before graduating to armed robbery and credit-card manufacturing. At the height of his larceny, he had amassed forty million dollars' worth of counterfeit credit cards. His high-stakes grifting eventually got the attention of the law and landed him in prison. Six years later, he was released from prison, where many moments of truth brought him to the realization that crime does indeed not pay and he needed to change his life.
Today Victor Woods stands as a man reborn, having dedicated his life and work to speaking to young people, motivating them to get on and stay on the straight and narrow. He tells his incredible story to help others sidestep the darkness and pain that once consumed him. In charting the winding path of his own hard-won journey toward redemption, Woods manages to reach out to readers with the startling emotional immediacy of a letter from an old friend. At once a bracing cautionary tale and a work sure to inspire readers from all walks,A Breed Apart is an invaluable work of penetrating honesty, depth, and passion.
- Atria Books
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A Breed ApartA Journey to Redemption
By Victor Woods
Atria BooksCopyright © 2005 Victor Woods
All right reserved.
Chapter OneThe Sting
It was a lovely Chicago summer day in July 1990. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky. My girlfriend and I were cruising down Lake Shore Drive in my Corvette. The convertible top was down, and I could smell the last vestiges of well-seasoned food we'd just eaten from the Taste of Chicago as we passed Grant Park.
The beauty of the sunlight reflecting on Lake Michigan was complimented by a cool breeze from the lake. In a matter of seconds, Soldier Field, home of the Chicago Bears, was behind us. A few minutes later, we passed the Museum of Science and Industry and then onto Stoney Island Avenue. We were on our way to Razor's jewelry store. It was near 69th and Stoney.
When we arrived, Delilah stayed in the car and I went in. I was greeted by Razor's wife, who took my watch and began cleaning it, as she usually did when I visited the store. There was no one else in the store, so we got right down to business.
Razor was a brother in his mid-thirties. I asked him if he had the money as we agreed. His negative reply irritated me. He then asked if I had the merchandise. I told him "No." Obviously, we were both being cautious about the exchange.
I told him the merchandise was nearby, and with a telephone call, it could be dropped off. He said once it was received, we would pick up the money at another location. I was perturbed that we had to alter our original plan. We finally agreed that I would instruct my guy to make the drop, and we would then proceed together to pick up my cash.
I called my guy, Jimmy, and told him to deliver the package to the Holiday Inn in Harvey, Illinois, as Razor requested. Twenty-five minutes later, Razor received a call that the 700 blank Visa Gold credit cards were received, and all was well. I then talked to my guy, and he confirmed that everything was cool.
Razor casually got into his new Thunderbird, and Delilah and I followed him to the drop. Rainbow Beach was also on Chicago's South Side, and not too far from Razor's store. It was afternoon when we arrived at the beach. There were a few cars scattered in the parking lot and several people enjoying the summer day. Razor parked near a Datsun 280Z, and I parked about twenty-five feet away from Razor. Again, I told Delilah to wait in the car.
Everybody got out of their cars simultaneously, looking to the left and to the right, while proceeding toward one another. After we converged, the brother from the 280Z said, "What's up?" He opened a duffel bag he had been carrying on his left shoulder, and showed me the money: $30,000 in 100-dollar bills. He then tried to hand me the duffel bag. I told him no thank you. There was no offense intended, but I didn't know him from Adam. I told him to give the bag to Razor, and Razor would give it to me.
As Razor took the money and reached out to give it to me, the whole parking lot lit up like a Christmas tree. There were undercover agents everywhere. Some were closing in on us in cars, while others were running toward us on foot, guns drawn. It was the most police I had seen in a long time. The United States prosecutor was even in attendance for the show.
All of us were handcuffed and thrown against one of the unmarked police cars. As an agent pressed a shotgun against my head, Razor looked at me and asked if I had set him up. I just looked at him and the other brother in total disgust. On the contrary, I knew I had just been set up. They had Delilah surrounded in my Corvette. She looked over at me and smiled, as if to say it was all some big joke.
I rode downtown in an unmarked car with three Secret Service agents, just as I had three weeks earlier. But then, I knew the game was over. I knew I was headed back to prison. As I was sitting inside the federal building handcuffed to the wall, Lee Seville, the same gray-haired agent who had told me three weeks before to help myself and cooperate with the government, came into the room.
He informed me that my guy Jimmy was telling him so much that I had better start talking before there was nothing left to tell. He said if I didn't talk, I was going to the Metropolitan Correctional Center (MCC) in downtown Chicago. At that moment, I knew what I had to do. I began to reflect on the circumstances that had led me to this place and time - on how I came to find myself in big trouble for the second time.
My parents never spent much time talking about their parents. However, my father did tell me my great-grandmother was blind and deaf, and she had been raped by an Irishman. As a result, my father's mother was so fair that people thought she was white. I never met my grandfather. They had four children - my father and his three sisters - all with light skin. My father's hair was black, but his sisters all had red hair and freckles.
My father, Irving Woods, grew up in Florida at a time when segregation prevailed, and black people regardless of their complexion were treated like dogs. My grandfather left my grandmother, who was a nurse, when their children were small. My father grew up in a tiny house that rested on a dirt road. There was no toilet, only an outhouse. He grew up like most black people in the South at that time: poor and discriminated against. However, he had a tremendous amount of motivation and inner strength. Attending segregated schools that had only secondhand books, he read all he could. He worked odd jobs, and helped his mother, and prided himself on the fact that he never caused his mother any problems. At high school, where he was chosen to lead the band, he already had a good reputation.
Extremely handsome and intelligent, my father was and always had been a very proud man. He told me about a white instructor who administered the driver's test at a motor vehicles bureau, who insisted my father call him "sir."
"I'm not here to Uncle Tom you," replied my father. It was no surprise that my father failed the driving test.
Dad attended Morehouse College in Atlanta, Georgia, where he met my mother, a striking Spelman woman with beautiful honey-brown skin, big brown eyes, and an arresting smile. She was smart, incredibly talented, and had a good sense of humor.
My mother, Deborah Woods, grew up differently from my father and from most black people in the fifties. Raised in a sprawling home surrounded by beautiful things and wanting for nothing, she was the daughter of a prominent Detroit minister who had risen from humble beginnings to the very top of his field. Mama was the most popular girl in her high school and was always the center of attention. She sang and played piano at social gatherings. My mother lived a more privileged existence than most white people. My mother and grandmother told me many stories about my grandfather and how much he loved them and the Lord. Most of the important details about my grandfather were handed down to me by my grandmother.
My maternal grandfather, Rev. Dr. Anderson Major Martin, grew up in Mississippi, left home at an early age for Chicago and received his degree from the Moody Bible Institute. He was flamboyant and always had a new Cadillac. One man who knew my grandfather for years told me he was the most sharply dressed man he had ever seen. He had a pair of shoes and a hat to match each tailored suit. But most importantly, I've been told he was a great family man.
My grandmother, Mary Louise Martin, was a beautiful, extremely intelligent Christian woman from Brooklyn, New York. She adored my grandfather. Her whole world was her two girls, her husband, and the church.
At one time, Rev. Dr. Anderson Major Martin was one of the most respected ministers in the country. His sermons were said to be spellbinding. One Sunday morning, before I was born, he died as he wanted to: preaching in the pulpit to his congregation. Former President Richard Nixon sent flowers to his funeral. Before my grandfather died, he told my grandmother that if anything ever happened to him, he didn't want her to remarry because he wouldn't be able to rest in peace if anybody mistreated her. My grandmother never did remarry. A selfless person who lived to serve God and take care of her family, she worked as a math teacher so my mother and aunt could complete their college educations.
After college, my parents married. It was 1962, and although my father had a college degree, as a black man he had trouble finding a job, so they moved in with my mother's mother. My father took a job at a local grocery store stocking shelves, while continuing to look for a better job. Eventually he secured a job with a Fortune 500 company, and was promoted and transferred frequently.
I was born on March 23, 1964. People said I was a beautiful baby. My mother said that everywhere she took me people would stop her and ask to look at me. My parents were proud and showered me with attention.
My grandmother and I started loving each other from the first time we laid eyes on each other. Her love remains with me to this day. My grandfather's death had left a tremendous void in her life, so when I was born, she dedicated herself to me. As long as she lived she showered me with love, wisdom and knowledge. My grandmother taught math in Detroit for thirty-five years. I remember always going to school with her when I was a little boy. Before I could even walk or talk, I had already formed a strong spiritual bond with Mary Louise Martin.
Grandma treated me like a prince. She constantly showered me with gifts. I was a hyperactive child; I got into anything and everything. I was also spoiled rotten. I began to get into mischief early on. When I was two years old, I locked the baby-sitter out of the house. I ran around so much that she could barely keep up with me. I was so out of control, my doctor prescribed Thorazine to calm me down. Apparently, it rendered me almost comatose. I sat on the couch in front of the TV like a zombie. After a week, my mother felt sorry for me and took me off the medication. She resigned herself to letting me run wild.
At three, my parents enrolled me in Montessori preschool. I was Dennis the Menace, Chuckie from Child's Play, and Damien from The Omen - all in one. I wouldn't sit when they told me to sit, nor would I stand when they told me to stand. I followed none of the rules and was so disruptive that my mother was often called to pick me up early. Finally, the teachers gave up and told my parents not to bring me back - by age three, I had been kicked out of school. I had already started to develop a pattern of behavior I would maintain well into my adult life.
I refused to follow rules; it had to be my way or no way. And despite my incorrigible behavior, I could charm people. I had an early grasp of the English language, and people always commented on how well I spoke, how smart I was. Most people thought I was "so cute" and allowed me to get away with just about everything. I recognized that and used it.
When I was three, my mother gave birth to a baby girl. Valerie was a beautiful baby with a head of curly black hair. I used to get my sister into trouble by knocking her food onto the floor while my mother's back was turned. Valerie would cry and my mother would scold her while I sat back, watched, and enjoyed the show. Even though I sometimes got my sister into trouble, we did everything together, and eventually became best friends.
Suburban Life, Jack & Jill and Racism 101
I continued to act the fool in kindergarten. I refused to listen to the teacher or follow the rules. Valerie was the opposite. She was a very quiet child who didn't get into any trouble. My teachers began to tell my parents what they would hear throughout my school experience; I was smart, but didn't listen and wouldn't follow the rules.
My father continued to earn promotions and we were constantly moving. He was successful, and we were comfortable. I never remember wanting for anything during my childhood. My father took excellent care of us, determined to do what his father never tried to do.
Through all the promotions and moves, I maintained an intensely close relationship with my maternal grandmother, Mary Louise Martin. She wrote me loving letters and we talked on the phone. We always spent Christmas at her house in Detroit, or she would visit us. My mother's sister, her husband, and their two children would also gather at my grandmother's house for the holiday festivities.
My grandmother was a fantastic cook. She made cookies and cakes from scratch and the best hot rolls I have ever tasted. I remember sitting at the table watching her make rolls. I would eat the dough, and she'd say, "It's gonna rise in your stomach," and we would burst into laughter.
My grandmother's house seemed like a castle to me. There were two different stairways leading upstairs, five bathrooms, a bar in the basement and an attic as big as most apartments, equipped with a bathroom of its own. My grandfather's study had shelves of books and a handsome desk and chair. A large colored picture of him hung on the wall, and everywhere I moved in that room, my grandfather's eyes would follow.
When we went to see my grandmother, we attended service at Newlight Baptist Church, where my grandfather used to preach. My grandmother was still active in the church and was considered its first lady. The church was so huge that the preacher had to speak through a microphone. There were two choirs and nurses for people who caught the Holy Ghost. When I was growing up, all the people in the church knew and remembered my grandfather, and expressed love and respect for him.
After church service, we were treated like celebrities. People lined up to talk to me and meet the late reverend's grandson. Many old men and women just wanted to kiss me. It used to scare me, but I loved all the attention. I never could begin to imagine that one day I too would find myself in the pulpit, speaking to thousands of people.
My grandmother told me stories about my grandfather so often I felt I knew him personally. Some nights, in bed with my grandmother, I fell asleep in her arms as she talked about him. I was going to preach one day as my grandfather had preached, she said, making sure to keep my grandfather's memory alive. You're going to talk to large crowds." I disagreed, but she would laugh and say, "You just wait and see."
In the mid-1970s, we moved to Arlington Heights, Illinois, an affluent suburb of Chicago. We were the first black family to move there.
Excerpted from A Breed Apart by Victor Woods Copyright © 2005 by Victor Woods.
Excerpted by permission.
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Meet the Author
Victor Woods, a professional motivational speaker, lives in Chicago, Illinois. A Breed Apart is his first book. For more information about Victor Woods, and to arrange speaking engagements, please visit his website at www.VictorMWoods.com.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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This seems like an honest, informative, most times hurtful experiencegrowing up Black in the 50s, even coming from middle class environment.
When Victor Woods determine that crime really did not pay after spending years in jail and prison, he did society a wonderful service when he wrote this book. Many Black males will probably be saved from a life of criminal activities if they have the opportunity of reading this wonderful autobiography. I bought the book and in two days, I completed it, reading how he was raised by an upper middle class Black family in a Chicago suburban village. I could totally relate to this project because as a parent who lives in similar surroundings, affiliated with the same type of organizations and has a son who didn't fulfill any type of personal responsibilities when he was young (in high school and didn't finish college), and now I see him suffering because he always wanted to take the easy and slick way out. Now he has absolutely nothing, whereas his brother and sister have accomplished many goals through education and careers. I was totally amazed by Victor's friend Earl who stuck by him for years on end and the constant reflection on his grandmother's desire for him to change due to his intelligence and live a good life. This absolutely is a great book and should by all means be on school and public library shelves everywhere, if one black child is in attendance.I congratulate Mr. Woods on seeing the light at the end of the tunnel because the light will really shine if one makes the attempt to do the right thing.
Every African American male youth in America should read this true story of a lazy young man who had enormous abilities but took the negative way out to a life of crime. Born within a upper middle class family with a great mind, the main character does the crime and then does the time (in prison). This is the book that African-American community libraries and schools should buy and have numerous copies for the residents of the neighborhood to read.
A breed Apart: A Journey to Redemption is an absolutely fascinating and engaging book. I was introduced to this book and drawn to the contents because it addresses the experiences faced by many inner city youth. As an educator who has dedicated my life to ensure that the youth that crosses my path are successful, I was impressed by the lessons that Mr. Woods mapped out. He uses his life experiences as a tool to reach the masses, who have considered or who have gone down the wrong path, for whatever reasons, to re-examine their role in this universe. He has a very compelling tale of life in the fast lane, taking responsibility for one's actions, and finally coming to the realization of his true value to society. This is a tale of self-discovery; one that will uplift those who journey with Mr. Woods and share similiar experiences. This book is excellent and I highly recommend it, particularly to our youth. It is assigned as my program's summer reading assignment. I am sure that they will enjoy it as much as I did!
Although I am a personal friend of Mr. Woods, I can say without bias that Victor Woods is an honest example of how young African-American men and women can achieve success, even after facing many obstacles. His candid detailing of his successes and failures through a life of crime, shows young readers that nothing worthwhile is achieved easily. Anything that appears to be free, simply is not. His is a humbling account for all to consider when contemplating a road greatly traveled and full of deception and shame. From the first day I read his novel until now, Victor has never been anything other than what you see. His outright honesty and truthfullness draws you in and gives you something to think about. This has been a long work in progress that has finally reached fruition. I strongly encourage all to read this book and share it with others, for you will not be disappointed.
A Breed Apart is a phenomenal book that draws you into the life of Victor Woods and every emotional ride he went through, the thrills and the chills. Victor Woods came from a family that most black children would dream of having. His yearning to learn about and be around people that looked like him caused an inner struggle and a rift in his home life. Determined to do things on his own terms, Victor chose a life of crime and spent a total of 8 years of his life paying for those choices. What makes this book so compelling is the power of unconditional love and friendship. Blessed is the influence of one true loving human soul on another (George Eliot). Victor's Grandmother loved him and always told him that he could make it and those words helped to shape his truest potential. Victor's best friend Earl, supported him when everyone else had given up on him. Earl helped Victor dig deep inside of himself and choose the path he was destined to lead. In every dark hour, at every crossroad in the forward struggle of life, the spirit of truth will be revealed. A Breed Apart speaks to the truth of one's spirit.