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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781477271292 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 01/31/2013 |
| Pages: | 288 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.65(d) |
Read an Excerpt
"PIMP: REFLECTION OF MY LIFE"
(J.U.M.P. INTERSTATE N Urban Legends)By NOBLE DEE
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Noble Dee & J.U.M.P. Adv & Ent.All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-7129-2
Chapter One
In The Beginning
Let me take this opportunity to share a little something with you about Noble Dee's background. When I became old enough to understand, I was told that it was not long after we relocated to San Francisco, California from Houston, Texas that my mom and dad separated. The reason for them separating, I really don't know.
I do know that when they separated, my dad left California and returned to Texas. And, not long after he arrived back in Texas, my dad ended up in TDC (Texas Department of Corrections).
At that time, I was only a young tender age of two years old, and my mother, now single and living in California all alone. Just her and I against the world with no other choice but to go on with our lives. Regardless to the situation, my mother held her head high and retained all the pride she could. Even though, we had to move in and began living with her aunt in the infamous Fillmore District of the City by the Bay.
As a kid growing up in the Fillmore any hustle was better than none. I remember playing little blind-boy as a kid to get extra money for candy at Jimmy's, the Chinese store on the corner. I would stand in front of the store with a cup in one hand, a stick in the other with a pair of dark glasses on, popping game! "Help the blind," I'd holler to the people going in and out of Jimmy's.
When I got enough money to satisfy me for the moment, I would make a mad dash into the store, just like a hoe rushing to pay her pimp! And, just like the pimp ..., Jimmy [the Chinaman] would check my hard earn money that I got conning and conniving. I must have loved that Chinamen man and his Chinese store.
Anyway, that was my first encounter with game, as a youngster, utilizing nothing but my wits to get money. This was just one of the examples of the con games that I executed in the streets of San Francisco—back in the day. One example of the type of slick ideas that came into my young mind to get the extra money that I wanted for candy and other things.
Keeping it REAL ..., I didn't have the heart like the other kids that would steal candy from Jimmy's store. So, during that time playing little blind-boy and many other crafty con games were the methods that would enable me to get the things that I wanted that mamma wouldn't buy me.
However, living with her Aunt Suzie in the Fillmore did initiate a very special bond between me and my mother, which was unbreakable. Although our bond remained, my glorious time in San Francisco's infamous Fillmore District was short lived.
By the time I was five years old another event would take place in our lives that would be next to impossible for me to adjust too. We moved away from the city life in the Fillmore, and the safe-haven of Aunt Suzie's house to down in the country in Madera, California with her cousin Elijah and his son Lincoln. During these times in the fifties, little towns in California like Madera were the boomtowns for blacks moving west from the south.
Cousin Elijah had a juke joint down in Madera, and he needed help to run the place. So, we moved down to Madera, which turn out to be a good place for her to meet someone.
My mother did meet a man that would cherish her love, and be a father to me. I don't know how it happened, but Cousin Elijah's juke joint is where she met Willie ..., a country ass black man that thought he was somewhat of a slick brotha.
Willie was a nice looking man with big dreams of owing his own wrecking yard; this cat had an un-dying love for cars, and young pretty girls such as my mother. Willie and mamma lived together for the next eight years or so. Long enough for me to consider him as my step-dad, but by the time I was twelve years old, mamma, and Willie separated.
In retrospect, looking back ..., Willie wasn't that bad after all, in regards to me or my mother. On the other hand, though, I didn't care for those ass whippings that he put on my little bad ass. Well, I guess most of the time I needed them, and perhaps they may have help saved me from life on death row or some other tragic future.
It was inevitable; the street life, in some shape, form or fashion, was for me, and I truly think that my bloodline played a major part in regards to my destiny ..., I was a Lavan—Sonny Boy Lavan's son.
Willie must have seen the streets written all over my face and on the face of his blood nephew too, his sister's son, Freddie Leary. Willie was definitely hard on both of us. Me and Freddie spent a lot of time together growing up, and getting into trouble.
We weren't bad kids; we just thought we were slick as motor oil! Perhaps this is why Willie did not spare the rod when it came to kicking our little slick-thinking asses. Verbally, along with the ass whipping, he'd attempt to instill his country values in us.
Thinking about it years later, I think that I adopted Willie style when it came to me checking my hoes—kicking ass and spitting game, lacing them at the same time.
Anyway, it wasn't long before my mother would fall deeply in love with Willie. Matter-of-fact, I even grew to like him a lot, because, even at a young age, I knew the difference between having a man around. Life wasn't bad for me and mamma with Willie around as her man and my step-dad.
Eventually, we moved back to the city. Back to San Francisco, back to comfort and safe haven of the infamous Fillmore District. However, the big city brought out all of Willie's fears and insecurity in regards to his woman, my mother.
I guess Willie felt like this country girl was one in a million, and he wanted her all to himself. I must admit though ..., my mother, Otha Lee was a very attractive woman, and far as Willie was concern—every brotha in the city of San Francisco wanted her!
His twisted mind told him this repeatedly, which cause him to act like a damn fool. Can you imagine a square, country-ass brotha with the style of a gorilla when it came to handling his woman? That's like carrying dynamite in your back pocket ..., a violent situation!
The man that I had grew to like, love, and respect had become extremely dangerous. Some nights after my mother would get off late in the evening from working in a Chinese laundry; I would lay in my bed and listen to Willie act a dam fool. He'd accuse mamma of being with every Tom, Dick and Harry.
I'd lay there contemplating on how I was going to kick his ass for old glory when I got big enough; kick his ass REAL good for the all misery that he'd start bringing into our lives. What can one expect from a man that had barely had a forth grade education? I guess being raised in the back woods of Texas made him just plain country with a streak of stupidity.
Although my mother and Willie separated, Freddie Leery was more than just my step-cousin; he was my best friend, my partner. We grew up together with big dreams, and keeping our eyes on the prize too.
Our youthful dreams and young quest in life was to grow up and one day become like some of the well-to-do street brothas ..., the ghetto fabulous pimps of the sixties that we saw every weekend in Freddy's West Oakland neighborhood.
Freddie lived close to the most popular game-related club in Northern California, which was patronized by every REAL pimp that lived in Northern California, and every REAL pimp that came through, and/or pimped in this area.
The Zanzibar, inside of the popular Hotel California, was made popular by the fabulous Ward Brother, and showcased in the motion picture ..., "The Mack."
Every weekend, me and Freddie would sneak through the hotel and the restaurant just to steal a peak inside of the Zanzibar. Inside of the bar, we'd see pimps and hoes partying to the fullest. Each and everyone were definitely dressed to impress. Their attire would have you thinking that you were at a fashion show.
The attractions on the inside that REALLY caught my attention were the females dancing [only in a g-string] in the cages, suspended in mid air in the corner of the bar. As always me and my cousin would get kicked out when some pimp or hoe would spot us, then run us out.
Me and Freddie were fascinated by these pimps with their shining diamonds, big bankrolls, their custom-made clothes, and originally designed Cadillacs which they parked across the street in a gas station parking lot. As far as we were concern; our futures were set, and we shared this dream together.
We made it a point to visit this hotel every weekend when I came over. Even at our young ages, the game had lured us in. All we could think of about was our futures, and our lives as pimps.
Shit, we didn't even know what a pimp was, but to be a pimp became our sincere life quest, and conquest of a bitch's total being; mind, body, and soul, was a must.
Optimistically, we knew that someday, [in our near futures], and someway, some young girls were going to be our hoes and sell their young pussies for us. We REALLY shared this dream together—diligently.
Our dream became somewhat shattered; one day my Aunt Sally, Freddie's mother, killed a man in West Oakland. I remember my mother saying how Willie had cried that day. Willie's baby sister, Aunt Sally, had killed that brotha, and was possibly facing a prison sentence. Willie feared the consequences that she was facing in her near future.
Uncle Douglas, Willie's older brother, came by and told Willie, "Stop crying Willie, didn't I tell you? Just like you made Otha Lee cry, one day somebody or something was going to make you cry?"
I guess Uncle Douglas was telling his younger brother; 'the chickens had only come home to roost.' In other words, 'Fair exchange has never been a robbery,' 'You reap what you sow.'
Willie had made my mother cry on a many occasions, now the table had turned, an unfortunate event was showering him with sorrow, and making him cry uncontrollably.
Anyway, that tragedy in the ghettos of West Oakland that early morning ended me and Freddie's thing for a few years. Aunt Sally was only incarcerated for a few months for the murder, with Allah by her side, eventually, she beat the case on self-defense. Freddie still was sent to New York to live with his father's relatives.
Then, I couldn't understand why Freddie had to go live in New York since my Auntie didn't go to prison. But years later, I realized that her killing that man took a REAL toll on her mentally. From that day until the day she died, Aunt Sally was never the same. (Salaam Aunt Sally)
In any event, while Freddie was away ..., undoubtedly, I kept our dream alive on the West Coast. At that time, I had no idea that simultaneously, my cousin Freddie was doing the same on the East Coast.
San Francisco's infamous Fillmore District would nurture me with pimpin' to the utmost, and New York would polish Freddie' perspective game to perfection, just right for California once he returned years later.
Upon his returned to the streets of Oakland, Freddie would become one of the biggest dope dealers in the East Bay, along with his close friend, Felix Mitchell, and rival Mickey Moe.
Me growing up in the City of San Francisco during my era was like going to 'The School of Pimpin',' because in the Fillmore District, pimpin' was all around me. Even in my high school, Polytechnic High, in the Haight Ashbury District, was popular for turning out pimps and hoes.
For these reason, one year Polytechnic High was featured in the San Francisco Examiner newspaper. By now Li'l Daddy Ray, [nickname my uncles and aunts gave me], had changed dramatically.
By the time I got into high school, my partners were calling me ..., "Li'l Bo Pete." I had acquired the name from a hustler named California.
One evening in Terresa's barbershop while getting my hair done, this pimp from the Northwest named Bo Pete came in. He was a tall, slender light skinned man that could have passed for my father.
After me and California left the shop, with our hair died, fried, and laid to the sides, we made our way to the corner on Fillmore Street to watch the hoes hoe, and the pimps pimp. California looked at me, and said. "Nigga, for some reason you remind me of that nigga Bo Pete!" I guessed California could see that stature of pimpin' in me ..., thus the birth of Lil Bo Pete!
The birth of Li'l Bo Pete still didn't eliminate my shyness. I was the talk amongst all the young hot females in my high school, and my shyness was passed off with me being a devious ass brotha. Moreover, I was a conning, conniving young devious brotha.
I started this thing that earned me the stature of a pimp before I was actually pimpin'. I would charge females to be with me. And, that's exactly what I called it ..., 'Charging a female to be with me.'
I had a process—what we all called ..., 'a lord have mercy Jesus', and it had to say properly processed, so I'd charge that to a female who REALLY wanted to be with me. I would have females keep my 'lord have mercy Jesus' died, fried, and laid to the side.
As a young up and coming pimp, I had to be sharp, therefore a female had to make sure I stayed sharp and buy my clothes. My females even give me money that they'd steal from their parents.
Looking back, growing up for me was nothing but a con. I had to con up on all the extras that I wanted. My mother already had to work her ass off in some Chinese laundry to feed me and my step dad.
Willie had a dream of owning his own wrecking yard one day, and did not believe in working for the white man, so our well being was carried completely on her back. Eventually, through his conniving, and mamma's hard work, he finally opened a junkyard in Richmond, California.
My life as a youth wasn't all that bad; I can't ever remember not having any food to eat. I can't even remember not getting a new bike for Christmas. I often wonder ..., 'Perhaps having my mother somewhat spoiled me, prepared me for my life as a pimp.' I know she didn't intentionally prepare me for the game. What mother wants her son to be a pimp? Just like the clock of life, me becoming a pimp would come back to hunt my mother later on in life.
When I caught a mis-pimpin' and pandering' charge on this white hoe that I only had for less than thirty days, seems like my mamma suffered tremendously too. I was charged, convicted, and sentenced to a prison term of 7 years.
After serving almost 4 years, I was released from the pen, and just before I was released from prison my mother, and her new husband, Mack came to visit me with some questions, and a proposition.
Her number one question was, "Why Donald Ray? Why do you want to pimp and just throw your life away?" I had to tell her how I honestly felt; knowing that what I said might REALLY hurt her, because she played a role in my pimpin' out of being naive.
I told her that after seeing her slave in those hot sweatboxes that she called laundries to feed and clothe me had made me impartial to having any female that could not do for me as much as she had done for me.
These words coming from her son's mouth brought about a bewilder look that covered her face.
Her next questions came from deep within, a combination of both the mother and the woman; "Well son, I wouldn't want you to have a female that wasn't going to be good to you ..., but Ray, do you have to mess with hoes?"
"I mess with hoes because I'm a pimp mamma!" I responded very sincerely.
"Don't you consider me? What if a man had done me like you're doing women, Ray?"
She had thrown me a curve with that question, but I was so engulfed by the pimpin' that my answers even made sense to her. My honesty, and true since of direction somewhat put a smile upon her face, but also tears in her eyes at the same time.
It was obvious that the pimpin' had consumed my total being, especially, when I turned down her proposition to help me upon my release from prison.
Through hard work, she had made her mark and carved a good life in society for herself. She truly wanted to share her wealth with me, thinking that my pimpin' was just a money thing. Money was a major factor, but not the soul reasoning.
Moreover, there was a burning desire within me to control my entire environment, and it just made my day. Just the thought of the day when I could ride down the streets and see my hoes out there humping their asses off to get my money inflated my ego to the extreme. Nothing she could say, or offer, would change my course in life now.
Like any mother, she REALLY tried that day sitting in the visiting room inside Soledad State Prison. She had even offer to help me to start some kind of small business upon my release.
"Mama," I said. "All that sounds good, and I appreciate you for wanting' to do that for me, but you've worked hard all your life to get somewhere. You don't need to take any extra chances; you got a good husband and everything you ever wanted as a black woman coming' out of the ghetto. I'll be alright mamma, I promise!"
My mother and Mack just stared at me without saying a word, so I continued. "Furthermore mamma, If I did it that way it wouldn't be my way. I love you for that offer, and many more reasons mamma, but you gotta understand, I'm gonna to pimp or die. And, mamma I don't plan on dying no time soon, especially if I make it out of this hellhole call Soledad."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from "PIMP: REFLECTION OF MY LIFE" by NOBLE DEE Copyright © 2011 by Noble Dee & J.U.M.P. Adv & Ent.. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Reflection One....................1Reflection Two....................47
Reflection Three....................91
Reflection Four....................113
Reflection Five....................153
Reflection Six....................171
Reflection Seven....................191
Reflection Eight....................209
Reflection Nine....................219
In Conclusion....................257